Acts of Kindness
by lucelafonde
Summary: Canon until the trial, but Valjean doesn't make it in time, and when he arrives, it's too late. Feeling guilty for not doing the right thing, Valjean goes on a quest of absolution, and he takes Javert with him on the way. Together they rescue Cosette from the Thénadiers and are forced to realize that maybe they don't know each other as well as they've always thought. (Valvert)
1. Inspector Javert

There was, in all of Montreuil-sur-Mer, but one person who did not succumb to the charms of Monsieur Madeleine. Indeed, wherever the man went, a pair of watchful eyes hidden beneath strong brows was sure to follow. The shadow's name was Javert, and he belonged to the police.

He observed Madeleine's comings and goings with a sort of disconcerted wariness, and it soon became obvious that something was bothering the Inspector whenever he looked at the well-loved man, but whatever it was, he kept it — as everything else — to himself. Madeleine himself had noticed Javert's fixation on his person but chose to ignore it. He treated the police man like he did everyone else and neither avoided him nor sought him out.

Madeleine only learnt what was troubling the Inspector when he found Père Fauchelevent trapped beneath his cart one morning and urged the bystanders to help the poor man out from under the crushing weight of the wheels. Javert pointed out that he only knew of one man strong enough to accomplish this, and Madeleine could see in his eyes that the Inspector had discovered his secret before he had even finished speaking. Nevertheless, he chose the man's life over his own safety and crawled out from beneath the cart with a rueful smile on his lips, returning Javert's burning gaze as calmly as he possibly could.

After Madeleine had been appointed mayor of the town, Javert avoided him more than ever. He had not dared make a move, doubts still plaguing his mind whenever he watched the supposed ex-convict go about his rounds, giving alms to the poor, and investing the better part of his own fortune in the town.

Javert was uncertain. His instincts had warned him that he had seen the man before when he had first laid eyes on Monsieur Madeleine, and soon after he had recalled where exactly that had been, but he still lacked proof. He recognised the limp, the beastly strength, little things he had noticed in 24601, but all the evidence he had was circumstantial at best. When Madeleine had lifted the cart off Fauchelevent's ribcage, he could have sworn he had seen a spark of… something in the man's eyes, but that too was nothing but guess-work.

So Javert waited. Knowing that Monsieur Madeleine was now Monsieur le maire made him uneasy and less confident in his quest than ever, but he could not shake the feeling of recognition. He was a dog who had picked up the scent of his prey, and he could not let go until he had recovered it, try as he might.

Javert did not pursue the matter further. There were no more leads to follow, and a man like him could never in good conscience denounce an authoritative figure like the mayor, but still he avoided him. Whenever his position required him to confer with Madeleine, he was never anything but formal, strict and polite. It was good.

When this man, this supposed ex-convict (for in his mind that was exactly what Madeleine was, no matter how hard he tried to convince the world otherwise) dared interfere with his work and then, to top it all off, turned him out of his own police station, in front of his men, no less! Javert could take it no longer. Livid, he posted the letter he had written a long time ago which only his rigid sense for propriety and lingering doubts had kept him from sending so far and was not seen for weeks after the incident in the police post if his duties did not demand it.

Madeleine, in the meantime, had not spared a second thought for the shame he had brought over the fierce Inspector and was thoroughly engrossed in getting Fantine's child to her as quickly as possible. He was appropriately surprised and — if he was honest — displeased when the Inspector demanded to speak with him. No matter how uncomfortable he had felt when Javert had entered his office, when the police man informed him of the reason for this audience, he forgot all of his initial disinclination.

He dismissed Javert despite the Inspector's pleas for punishment with nothing more than a well-deserved acknowledgement of his excellent work and stared in horror at the crumpled paper in his hand.

They had found the 'real' Valjean. Madeleine had been aware of Javert's justified suspicions for quite some time now, of course, but hearing that the Inspector had found it prudent to go so far as to denounce him had made a cold shiver overcome him, hidden from Javert's down-turned eyes. More than that, however, had shocked him the revelation that another, innocent man had been arrested in his stead.

He lay awake all night trying to make his decision. It was not easy, but in the end his conscience won. Who was he to deny this poor man his freedom? If Javert could own up to his mistakes and demand to be dismissed because he had behaved in an abominable manner, how could Valjean live with himself knowing that not only had he brought a man so rigidly clinging to what was right and just to doubt himself and his ability to hold his position because of a single misjudgement without further consequence, but also let an innocent man serve a sentence meant for him?

No, his path was clear. He had to travel to Arras and set things right.

Who knows whether he would have had the courage to speak up had he made it into the courtroom in time? His intentions were honourable enough, but not everything is in the hands of men, and when his cart broke down on the way, leaving him with no means to continue his journey, he thought that maybe God had not meant for him to choose this path.

He arrived in Arras the morning after the trial and was able to find someone who could tell him the sentence, but there was nothing he could change about that now. Champmathieu was dead; his heart had stopped before they could put him behind bars.

Which is to say: Jean Valjean was dead.

Dumbfounded, Madeleine made his way back to Montreuil-sur-Mer, uncertain what to think of this unforeseen turn of events. Was this God's way of telling him that he was meant to serve the city rather than rot away in prison?

His journey had been disrupted, the man believed to be Jean Valjean was dead; what else could he think?

His conscience, however, was not clear. While he was still marvelling over the news, on his way back into town, he realised that, while he may have been a free man in the eyes of the law, he was not a free man in the eyes of God. He had sinned, and he had allowed the police to believe that an innocent man had been responsible for his crimes.

He had never felt so haunted.

That night, after having visited Fantine as was his custom, he resolved to strive for absolution. He did not know how he should accomplish such an impossible thing, nor did he believe he ever could, but he was willing to try. There was nothing else to do. He could not live with himself the way things were, and neither could he throw away the life God had obviously granted him.

It was a peculiar situation.

He was desperate, and there lay a burden upon his shoulders of a weight he had never carried before.

The road to repentance is a long and weary one, but as everything it must start somewhere. Valjean found his beginning in Javert when the man reported for duty as the mayor had requested through a messenger this morning. He could not tell the Inspector that his suspicions had been spot-on all along, but he could at least attempt to give him back his confidence in his own skills.

"Ah, Inspector Javert. Very good," Madeleine greeted him with a warm smile when he entered the office. "I have been expecting you."

"Monsieur le maire," Javert bowed stiffly, eyes not daring to meet the man's he'd disgraced.

"Please, none of that," he waved off, uncomfortable. "I called you here because I have a request to make of you."

Javert said nothing, gaze fixed on something above Madeleine's shoulder, but his posture said clearly that he was available for anything to follow.

"The woman you— Fantine," Valjean interrupted himself, fidgeting slightly when he remembered how he had treated Javert that night, deciding it would be best not to mention the incident. "She has a daughter in Montfermeil who is living with an inn-keeper and his wife."

Javert remained silent, but the tight setting of his jaw revealed he knew exactly which woman the mayor was talking about.

Valjean was glad the man wasn't looking at him with his usual unmatched attention in that moment; he would have doubtlessly suspected the mayor of hiding something at once. Even knowing that, however, Valjean could not help himself. Guilt was gnawing at his bones as it had the day the bishop had chosen to let him go free, giving him this life, undeserving as he had been. Even standing here, facing Javert with the knowledge that the other man would likely forever think himself unworthy of the uniform he wore, while he himself was pretending to be someone he was clearly not, was almost too much to bear.

He had to. There was no turning back now. The moment to speak up was gone; he was doomed to live with his choices, whether he liked it or not.

"I have exchanged a series of letters with the man," Madeleine continued calmly. "Thénardier is his name. He has demanded a… considerable sum of money to cover Cosette's, that's the girl, to cover her expenses, all of which he received."

Javert snorted and finally allowed his eyes to meet the mayor's. "With all due respect, Monsieur le maire, I do believe you have been taken advantage of."

"Indeed?" Valjean knew this to be true. He was simply glad the other man had finally decided to join his monologue.

"An inn-keeper, you say?" Javert looked contemplative. "I know such men; I have dealt with them before. A crook, no doubt. Robbing his customers blind, and now taking advantage of your undeserved trust and misguided kindness."

"Yes, we have established how highly you esteem my good will," Madeleine smiled slightly, "however, do not take me for a fool. I realise I have been robbed, but what am I to do? The child has to be procured; the mother is in need of her presence."

"In that case I would suggest a direct confrontation," Javert spoke with the confidence of a professional. "Go to the man himself and demand he hand over the child."

"That was also my idea," Madeleine nodded.

"In that case I must admit I do not see why you required my presence."

"Inspector Javert," Valjean sighed tiredly, "you know I hold you in high esteem. You are a man who demands respect and takes it wherever he goes. Your professional skill and judgement have served the city well, and I thank you for that. I said I had a request; it is like this: I plan to go to Montfermeil and fetch the child myself. That is a good plan. I have the written consent of the mother to hand over her daughter to me. That is well."

He had started pacing and chanced a look at the police officer every now and then, who still stood rigid as a military man awaiting an order.

"You say you know the kind of man this inn-keeper is," Madeleine continued, "you say you have dealt with the likes of him before. That is good. Inspector, I would request your assistance in the matter."

He stopped pacing and stared intently at the man before him. "If this man is a crook, he will not hand over the child simply because the mother requests it. I would have your impressive presence and professional prowess with me, if you please."

Javert considered him for a moment, now that the original apprehension had passed more willing to meet the mayor's eyes, and nodded slowly.

"It is true that you would likely hand over your last shirt to the man if he demanded it, simply to get hold of the child," he said calmly. "If unsupervised, you would not have enough money left to take the girl back with you, no doubt."

"It is as you say, Inspector," Madeleine sighed with a barely suppressed smile. "You know me well. Would you do me this favour? I would be deeply in your debt."

Javert gazed around the room uncertainly, unconsciously licking his lips, and suddenly snapped back to full attention.

"Very well," he said. "I shall accompany you. If this man is what I believe him to be, a visit from an official should not go amiss."

"Thank you, Inspector," Valjean smiled. "I knew I could count on you. We shall leave at noon. No doubt we will arrive in time for supper."

Javert's lips twisted upwards in a horrible way Madeleine had never seen before, and he knew immediately that this was not a smile; it was a promise.

Valjean had never been this grateful not be that man's prey any longer.

When Javert met him with unfailing punctuality, Madeleine already had a carriage and a driver waiting for them. He greeted the Inspector with a cheerful smile as he put a large stack of bills into an inner pocket. Javert scowled at him and unconsciously opened the door before their coachman could grasp for it.

"It is well that you requested my company," the police man said darkly. "You are already willing to give this thief everything that isn't his to ask for."

"I like to be prepared for any possible inconveniences," Madeleine shrugged, a knowing smile playing around his lips. Javert's dislike of his random generosity was public knowledge, and no one was more keenly aware of it than the mayor himself.

"I should like to see you deal with this situation on your own," Javert admitted and stepped aside to let the other man enter the carriage first. "It would be most educating for you to finally see how you are being taken advantage of."

"So why don't you let me go by myself then, Inspector?" Valjean asked. "Surely I would profit from such a valuable lesson."

"You have requested my help in this matter," Javert reminded him. "It is not my custom to deny my superiors what they ask of me. Besides, being kind is easy. I could do you the favour of stepping aside and let you see for yourself how trustworthy men really are, but I shall not."

"And why is that, Javert?" Valjean asked as the Inspector sat down opposite him.

"Because the difficulty lies in being just," he said. "If this man is, as I believe, a crook, he should be made an example of. Someone ought to put an end to his schemes."

"And this duty falls to you?"

"Who else is there to do it?" Javert snorted. "Are you offering to make him answer for his unjust enrichment at the expense of your generosity?"

"Ah," Madeleine nodded. "You are, of course, right, my dear Inspector. I should not think I would be able to leave the same impression as an encounter with you undoubtedly will."

"No, that much is certain," Javert said and turned to face the window as the carriage started moving. "You would attempt to intimidate him with generous amounts of money, no doubt."

Valjean almost didn't catch the last part, so quietly was it spoken, but he managed nevertheless. He smiled softly to himself and tried to imagine the rigid figure in front of him ever speaking like this to the convict he secretly was. It was impossible to think of Javert ever treating Jean Valjean with anything other than utmost contempt, a stain on the perfect glass of justice, but the mayor had the opportunity the convict had never had: this wasn't the officer Javert; it was the man behind the uniform, and Valjean found himself surprised at the humanity glancing through every now and then.

He suddenly realised that even though they had known each other for years, longer than Valjean had known anyone else, he had never really KNOWN Javert. In fact, the Javert he was sharing a carriage with now was nothing like the one he had met when the Inspector had been freshly assigned to the town. That Javert had been an officer of the police who was suspicious of him, had regarded him with hard and disconcerted looks, seeing but never seen, and had avoided him whenever possible. Valjean had never taken it personally. Back then he had been treated as every other criminal who had the misfortune of appearing on Javert's radar. He neither resented nor blamed the man for that; it was his nature.

Now, however, he found himself oddly stricken by the sudden transformation the Inspector had gone through. Before Javert had confessed to him that he had denounced him as an ex-convict, for the first time in his life treating Valjean with absolute and honest courtesy, respect, and even — dare he say it? — admiration, he had been almost positive that Javert was incapable of anything other than natural distrust and suspicion. As it turned out he had been wrong. There was a man behind that uniform, Valjean had just never been in a position to see it.

Until now. How odd life was! If Javert knew that he was sharing this carriage with an ex-convict, the very one he had accused him of being only to be proved wrong, he would surely turn livid. Valjean could not help but laugh quietly at the thought. The fox had outwitted the lion. If only the Inspector could share in on the joke.

"Is there a cause for amusement?" Javert asked stiffly, turning his gaze back to the mayor.

"Perhaps," Madeleine smiled. "I was just thinking how bizarre this is." He gestured wildly at them in the carriage. "Who would have thought we would ever end up in a confined space like this out of our own free will?"

"I fail to see how this could be such an entertaining thought," Javert said coldly. "There is nothing extraordinary about it."

"Isn't there?" Valjean asked. "When you first came to town you looked at me as if you wanted to bury me alive. You would always watch me, but never speak, and when I became mayor that didn't change much. I think it is quite amusing."

"Then you have an odd sense of humour," Javert said calmly. "You will remember that I treated you thus because I suspected you to be an ex-convict."

"Water under the bridge, my friend," Madeleine waved off quickly. "But it is good to know that it was no personal matter."

"I daresay it was quite personal."

"Only as long as you believed me to be a convict."

"Yes, I seem to remember to have mentioned that."

Valjean regarded the Inspector before him quietly before he leaned back in his seat with a heavy sigh and said: "Do you still want to be dismissed, Javert? Be honest now. I wish to know."

He found himself pierced by those startling bright eyes and wished he had remained silent.

"You know I do," Javert said finally, looking out the window again. "I do not understand why you persist in refusing me this. It is no less than I deserve. Knowing that you would have me escape justice is making me uncomfortable. As always, you are too kind."

"How can anyone be such a thing as 'too kind'?" Valjean asked. "You always make it sound as if it was a nasty trait. I thought you to be a religious man, Javert; do you not believe in forgiveness?"

"I believe in justice and what is right," the Inspector said stiffly, looking at him again. "You think being lenient with your people makes them happy? If everyone treated the law as lushly as you, there would be anarchy on the streets. No honest man would be safe. Rules exist for a reason; our society could not exist without them, yet you constantly mock the system that provides you with your power. You believe me to be too harsh, I know. That is true. I am harsh; as I should be."

He sighed tiredly and gestured outside the window where their town disappeared in the distance.

"You know little about what I do," he said. "That is well. It is not your concern. You witnessed me arrest the woman of the town and questioned my judgement in the matter, putting your authority over mine. You treated me harshly, and unjustly so. Yet, when I treat someone the way you did me, with justice, you call me too harsh. You were kind to that woman, Monsieur le maire, I know. Being kind is easy, being just is not."

Javert straightened his uniform in an attempt to escape Madeleine's searching eyes and said quietly: "If I treated every criminal the way you did that woman, simply because they plead with me, ask me for mercy, give me a thousand-and-one excuses that would melt a heart of steel, no one would respect me or the uniform I wear. We would not need a police force since everyone would be doing whatever they pleased either way."

Finally Javert's eyes met Madeleine's, and the mayor repressed a shiver when he said: "If men like me didn't exist, Monsieur le maire, there would be no safe place for you on earth. You have money and influence; two highly desirable things many people would kill for. How long do you think would it take before someone robbed you in the street, or perhaps inside your house, knowing you would likely never even report them out of _kindness_?"

Valjean swallowed heavily, pinned against the backrest by Javert's piercing glare, and he felt a sort of dread he hadn't experienced since the Inspector had put an end to his chase overcome him. Javert neither moved nor blinked, it seemed, until Madeleine finally had recovered enough to wet his lips and speak softly,

"You know I value your position highly, Javert. I realise how much the town owes to you and your police force, I never expected you to stop performing as admirably as you do. I simply asked you to let go of a sick woman who had acted in self-defence."

Javert laughed at that, and it must have been the first time Valjean had ever witnessed him do so, for he was quite certain he would have remember an occurrence as terrible as this. It was not a happy laugh. It was cold and hideous, and as soon as it was over, the Inspector's eyes once again held him firmly in place like a butterfly on a needle.

"You would have had me let her go?" Javert asked with a cruel twist to his lips. "Without any charges, I take it? Very well. I should have done so, should I not?" Madeleine thought he should have nodded but found himself unable to do so. Even when he had been running from the officer he had never been this afraid.

"I see. Let us pretend I had," Javert continued. "A woman of the town attacks a respectable citizen, leaves her mark for everyone plain to see on the gentleman's face, and gets away unscathed because Inspector Javert would have it so. That is well. The woman goes free, she continues to do her trade, she feeds her child; she is happy. The gentleman's face will heal, no doubt, perhaps there won't be scars. All is good. I should be content knowing that I did a good deed."

"I'm glad you realise it," Madeleine said.

"I have not finished," Javert said calmly. The mayor was silent. "The story is known to everyone in town. Honest people are outraged, the gentleman more than anyone, and they demand justice. Perhaps the victim will file a complaint against me. He might get his way, and I should be dismissed. No matter; I deserve it. I would find something else. While the honest people of the town are gossipping about the former Inspector Javert, the criminals, too, are talking, but they are not outraged. They are happy, as is the woman who got away without punishment, for now Inspector Javert is gone. And if he won't arrest them, who will? If Javert can be swayed, why should the same not also be true about every other officer in the force? Why still be scared of the law if there is nothing to fear?"

Javert breathed in deeply before he finally eased off his intensity in glaring at Madeleine and said quietly: "Being kind is easy, Monsieur le maire, being just is not. I would not expect you to understand, since I have always known you to be kind and never to be just, but that is the way it is. Did the woman deserve to go free? Perhaps. Did she deserve to be punished? Definitely. It is the law. If we start bending the rules to our liking, if we start ignoring those we do not personally agree with, who is to stop us from acting without any restraint at all? You think me harsh; perhaps I am. I have to be, doubly so, for you are not. As the mayor of the town you have a responsibility to uphold the values and laws it was build on. You cannot bend rules to your will as you please if you want people to respect you."

"Do you respect me?" Valjean asked just as quietly, suddenly comfortable again. Javert's anger had subsided; he seemed tired now, more than anything, and when he answered, he did so with a minute smile.

"You are too kind," he said simply. "You believe your kindness to be beneficial for others. You think you are doing them a favour, that you are helping them. I think you to be wrong in that assessment. Men cannot grow if they are not faced with hardship. In taking their responsibilities from them and giving them whatever they need, you are making them weak and greedy. It is not a favour, it is abominable. I have often watched you being kind to others. I would ask you not to treat me such; I see nothing noble about it."

"You would have me treat you harshly?" Valjean asked with a frown. Javert was the first person he had ever encountered who honestly despised his charitable nature. At first he had assumed it was because the Inspector suspected him to be an ex-convict who was trying to distract from his past, but now he knew it to be a set opinion not only pertaining to himself. It was… odd, yet not unpleasant.

"I would have you treat me justly," Javert said simply and turned towards the window again.


	2. Cosette

They continued their journey mostly in silence. Whenever they happened to pass a village, Javert would make a comment about the lacking in proper conduct of the residing police force, and Valjean would smile quietly at his companion's outrage.

It was odd.

Just a few days ago the occasions on which the mayor had smiled could have been counted on one hand. He had never been more likely to burst into laughter than the strict police officer opposite him, and yet he felt that right now he could do just that. It was… refreshing.

Javert's indignation knew no bounds, and he felt as if every failure related to one officer of the law was somehow connected to him. Valjean was glad he didn't have to answer to that man; he could only imagine what his subordinates went through.

"Have you always been with the police, Javert?" he asked eventually, hours from their town away.

The Inspector regarded him with a slight crease between his eyes for a moment, as if he wasn't sure whether he should answer this personal question. Madeleine knew he would; he was the mayor after all.

"There was little else I could do," Javert said finally, careful not to meet the other's eyes.

"And why is that?" Valjean asked curiously. "You look like a strong man. You're tall enough. You could have found something."

"Ordinarily that would be true," the Inspector said calmly. "But I am no ordinary man. When I was born my options were… limited. I had to choose between one side of the law or the other. I chose this path. It was a good decision."

"Surely it can't have been this black and white?" Madeleine frowned. "I, myself, came from humble beginnings. Look at where I am now!"

"I see it quite clearly, Monsieur le maire," Javert said and tilted his head in a submissive bow. "But we are different men. We do not share the same background. Humble… yes, I suppose you could say my beginnings were that."

Valjean looked at him intently, urging him to continue, and for once in his life the Inspector took the hint.

"I was born in a prison, Monsieur," Javert admitted quietly. "My mother was a fortune-teller and my father was a convict. I was condemned to live outside society when I was conceived. Just as well; I decided not to follow in my parents' footsteps and chose the other side of the law. There is nothing wrong with that. I did well. It was a good choice."

"You cannot think that you are beyond salvation, my friend!" Valjean exclaimed in surprise. "Surely you must see that you did good! Your origins are no fault of yours; you should not be so hard on yourself. Society has profited greatly from your presence."

"Your kindness again?" Javert groaned and rubbed his temples as if he was in severe pain. "What do I have to do to have you stop treating me as one of your charity projects? I will have none of it! I know what I am, and it is good. You need not try and convince me otherwise."

"Ah, my dear Inspector," Valjean said with a slight shake of his head, "one day you will realise that you are just as worthy of kindness as any other man."

Javert's eyes pierced through him for a second before he turned away and murmured: "I don't need it."

"I have upset you," Madeleine sighed. "I apologise. It was not my intention." Noticing that the Inspector still avoided his gaze, he carefully reached out to grasp his arm and said with a light squeeze, "You are a fine man, Javert. I am lucky to have you. You were right: your choice was good. I'm glad you made it."

Oh, the irony! Valjean thought amused. Not three days ago I would have given my right arm to be rid of that hound!

It was one thing to be pursued by this formidable officer, but quite another to have him on your side. Valjean found that he admired Javert's impressive skills and persistence as the mayor just as much as he had feared them as the convict. He could not deny, nor had he ever tried to, that, no matter which side he himself was on, Javert was the best police man he had ever seen.

However that may be, he was still glad that he no longer had to run from that dog.

"I would ask you to cease these niceties," Javert sighed heavily, "but I know it to be futile. Men like you will never change."

Valjean chuckled lightly, released his grip on the Inspector's arm and leaned back in his own seat.

"I'm glad you realise it."

They arrived at Montfermeil at sundown, just as predicted, and found the inn quickly enough. They left the coachman to his own devices, requesting he pick them up the next morning, and entered the house.

The inside was every bit as shabby as the outside, but they had not come here for pleasure anyway. Valjean looked around, trying to make out the owners of the establishment, when a heavy woman practically flung himself at him.

"What can I do for you, my good fellow?" she asked with an unpleasant voice unsettling him to the bone.

"Are you the keeper of this inn?" Madeleine asked carefully, moving back as inconspicuously as he could. He did not succeed entirely, for the price of avoiding the loud woman was finding himself leaning against Javert, who met his eyes with barely suppressed amusement when he chanced a look behind.

Cursing internally at his cowardice, he straightened again and faced the creature in front of him with as much authority as he could muster.

"I'm his wife," she waved off. "So? A room? Supper?"

"Yes, that would be agreeable," Madeleine nodded. "For me and my friend."

The woman squinted at the figure behind him, and Valjean silently thanked his foresight for having requested Javert came out of uniform because she looked suspicious enough as it was. It was one of those moments everyone must experience at some point when Valjean suddenly realised that he could take the uniform away from the officer, but never the other way around.

"Aye then," the woman nodded quickly. "Sit, Monsieur, sit. Your friend too. I shall bring the food immediately!"

Madame Thénardier had, of course, noticed how well-dressed both her customers were, and decided — after a quick exchange of looks with her husband — that a lot of money could be made with them.

Madeleine and Javert sat down at a table as far away from the other customers as possible and looked around for the girl. They had agreed on their journey to conceal their identities until they had gathered more information about the inn-keeper and Cosette. Javert was convinced that the man was a con, and he would not yield until he had him, and Valjean wanted to see for himself under which conditions the girl was living.

They had already received their meal by the time Madame Thénardier addressed a little girl in a harsh tone and looked up sharply when they heard the conversation.

"… but, madame, there's no water left," a faint voice said.

"Then go and get some!" came the fierce reply, and the two men at the table shared a dark look.

A small child, dirty blond hair, looking starved to the bone, stumbled past their table with a bucket bigger than herself and halted briefly in the doorway, clearly unwilling to go out into the darkness. She threw a pleading look at Madame Thénardier's back, but it was all in vain. She stepped into the night with graspable unhappiness and closed the door behind her.

Valjean and his companion had witnessed the scene with growing anger, and now that the girl was gone they shared a look once more.

"It is dark outside," Javert spoke what they were both thinking.

"That it is," Madeleine nodded gloomily.

"She can barely hold the bucket when it's empty," the Inspector continued.

"I had noticed."

"It is getting rather warm in here, Monsieur le maire," Javert said carefully. "I know of your fondness for late walks. Please do not restrain yourself for my sake. I shall be perfectly fine on my own for a while."

"That is fortunate," Valjean said, already standing. "I shall be back shortly."

The mayor disappeared into the dark as the girl had only minutes before, and Javert looked after him with an infinitesimal frown between his eyes. After a while he slightly shook his head and allowed his gaze to travel through the room. Most other customers were drinking and singing in a corner with a man the Inspector immediately recognised as the keeper of this inn. He had never seen the man before, but he didn't have to. He knew the kind; it was fairly obvious who ran this place, and the looks this weasel exchanged with the woman of the house were enough confirmation for Javert.

The Inspector leaned back in his chair and merged with the shadows in the corner. This was what he did best. Let the old man run after the child and force his kindness down her throat; Javert would take care of the rat in the kitchen.

"You live with Monsieur Thénardier and his wife?" Valjean asked the child walking beside him. She nodded quietly and led him through the dark.

"But you are not their daughter," the mayor noticed. Again, she nodded and walked on.

"Ponine and Zelma are their daughters. Not I," she said.

"What's your name, child?"

"Cosette," she said in a tiny voice. She wasn't afraid. Not anymore. She had been when she had stepped into the darkness, but now she wasn't alone. The man with her was tall and imposing, but she felt strangely safe in his presence. The dark didn't scare her as long as he was there.

"How long have you been with the Thénardiers, Cosette?" Madeleine pressed on. He had been appalled at the treatment bestowed upon the child, and he couldn't wait to take her away from this place, but all in due time. They had a plan; he had to stick to that.

The girl shrugged and said: "I don't know, Monsieur. All my life, I think."

"Are you… Do they treat you well?" Valjean said with a barely suppressed flinch. He knew the answer to that question; it was painfully obvious. It was cold outside, yet she was dressed lightly, as if they were experiencing the greatest heat in twenty years, and her clothes were shabby and torn. She was barefoot, and her skin was bruised and battered; Valjean knew she was beaten regularly.

Cosette was silent, no doubt fearing her mistress' wrath should she dare say anything against her, even this far away from the house, and Madeleine didn't need to hear the answer anyway. When they reached the spring, Valjean filled the bucket and they made their way back to the inn. The child was the miserable shadow of a girl that could have been pretty but was too thin, too rough, and too apathetic to be considered anything other than plain.

She looked exactly like her mother.

When Valjean and the child made it back to the inn, Cosette demanded the heavy bucket back for fear of her mistress should she see someone else carrying it for her, and Madeleine promised to wait a few minutes before he followed her inside so it wouldn't look as if they had arrived together.

Upon entering he found Javert glaring at the inn-keeper, his wife, and Cosette in slow succession, as if he wasn't sure who deserved his attention the most. Valjean sat down at the table again and said without preamble:

"These people are atrocious. We ought to take the girl and put them behind bars as quickly as possible."

"I quite agree," Javert said calmly, not deigning to look at Madeleine as he spoke, so engrossed was he in his observations. "So the child is the one you were looking for? She has her mother's appearance."

"I wish she hadn't," Valjean grumbled. "Fantine is a poor soul who sold everything she had in order to provide for her child, and look at what it bought her! Javert, this girl is being grievously mistreated. She isn't dressed for the cold, her mistress beats her, and now— now look at her! She is working again under that table! This is an outrage. We ought to do something."

"Calm yourself, Monsieur le maire," Javert said quietly, briefly looking in his direction before resuming his observations again. "You need to be more patient."

"Ah, that's easy for a police spy to say," Valjean sighed, but conceded the point. "Have you concluded your assessment of Thénardier?"

"I believe so," Javert handed him a receipt without looking. "This has been left behind by a previous customer. I found it on the floor."

"So?" Madeleine regarded the piece of paper, but there seemed nothing wrong with it.

"You will notice the prices on here," the Inspector pointed out. "I was asked for the triple amount not long ago, while you were out." He paused briefly. "For each of us," he said, in case that wasn't clear.

"Well, Javert, it looks like your presence is indeed a blessing," Madeleine sighed. "I'm glad this trip won't proof to be in vain for you."

"I would not have come had I thought it would," the Inspector pointed out, but his eyes met the mayor's briefly, and there was a light twinkle to them.

While Valjean was watching Cosette knit under the table, Javert was glaring at the inn-keeper with the same intensity, and the convict in him was once again glad he no longer had anything to fear from that man. He had never seen Javert operate in silence, had always only been confronted with the results, not the actual work, and he found it oddly fascinated him to watch the officer so thoroughly engrossed in his element. Javert had been right; he knew little about what that man did. He had never realised it before.

Valjean had noticed the two girls playing by the fire, a doll shared between them, and he surmised they must be the Thénardier children. After a while they lay aside the toy to dress the unlucky cat that had just passed them, and he watched Cosette sneak out from under her table and snatch the doll to play with it herself. He thought nothing of it, but soon the other girls noticed, and when they told their mother, the woman made a horrible grimace and started yelling at Cosette, who was now crying.

"What's the matter?" Madeleine asked, oblivious. Even Javert was now watching the scene, for the moment easing off his observations of the inn-keeper.

"Can't you see?" the woman shrieked. "She played with my daughter's doll!"

"So?"

"She touched it with her filthy hands!"

The woman was beyond reason. Valjean tried to calm her before she made to beat the child, who in her shock had let go of the doll and was now completely recoiling into herself, crying as if she expected to be struck dead any second.

Among the resulting turmoil, Madeleine hadn't even noticed Javert leaving his seat and disappearing into the night, but when the door opened again to admit the tall figure that was now approaching the terrified child all eyes were on him. He was carrying something when he knelt beside Cosette, and even when his eyes told him what it was, his brain did not comprehend it.

Javert was holding out a doll, and, judging by her expression, the girl was no less shocked than Valjean at the sight. She stared in open-mouthed disbelief at the imposing figure crouching next to her, but Javert didn't press the matter. This was a man who had never been gentle but always patient.

Madame Thénardier observed the scene with uncomprehending eyes and only woke from her stupor when her husband urged her to tell the girl to take the doll. This was an expensive toy, he knew it with one gaze, which only strengthened his suspicion that these men had money to spare. It would do them well to be in their good grazes.

"Well, Cosette?" the mistress pressed out between her teeth. "Aren't you going to take the doll?"

"May I really, madame?" the girl asked in childish wonder.

"Don't be rude, child. Take it." Madame Thénardier hated the sight of that doll, as she hated the girl and the two men who had taken a liking to her, but there was nothing for it. Her husband had given her an order, and this woman had never disagreed with the man in her life.

Shocked beyond belief, but with a wide smile on her lips, Cosette took the doll which really had been quite expensive — she knew because she had been staring at the stall outside the inn which sold it for days — out of the big man's hands and thanked him profusely.

"She is so beautiful," she breathed. "Thank you, monsieur, thank you! I shall call her Catherine."

The man said nothing, simply nodded and stood again, hesitating for a brief second before he reached down and slightly ruffled the child's hair. He returned to his seat in the corner in silence, not meeting his companion's gaze, and resumed his observations of Thénardier.

When it became obvious that Javert wasn't going to say anything more about the matter, Valjean turned towards the child who was now happily playing with her new treasure. In that moment she couldn't have looked any less like the miserable girl he had met in the dark.

Madeleine smiled quietly at the sight before him and looked at Javert, who was definitely avoiding his gaze now.

"That was a very kind thing to do, my dear Inspector," Valjean said in a slightly teasing tone.

"You would think so, of course," Javert snorted, still not meeting his eyes. "It was nothing more than just."

"Indeed?"

"Indeed. I had surmised that the child had no doll of her own. It seemed only fair that she should have one as well if the other girls of the house had one to play with." The Inspector had become one with the shadows once again, but Valjean didn't need to see him to know talking about a possible soft spot was making him uncomfortable.

"I, too, had noticed the stall in front of the tavern," the mayor said lightly. "I seem to recall this particular doll was a rather costly one."

"Everything I paid for it was given to me for enforcing justice," Javert shrugged off. "It seems right to invest my fortune into something that should help further the cause."

"I agree," Valjean said easily. "What a happy coincidence that the girl should profit from justice! I must admit I am beginning to see your point. Perhaps being just rather than kind is the right way after all."

"You are mocking me," Javert sighed tiredly. "I speak the truth, but you will have none of it. Very well. No matter. We shall both believe what we believe and speak no more of it. I have all the information I need. It would not do to arouse Thénardier's suspicions; I shall retire for the night."

"You're right," Valjean yawned, "it's late. I cannot wait to put this town behind me."

"Agreed."

Thénardier, despite their most sincere protestations, had given them his 'honeymoon suite' for the night. Valjean had thought to decline and simply seek out another tavern if there were no other rooms available as the inn-keeper said, but Javert stopped him and accepted in both their names before he could say anything.

"This is the most expensive room he has," the Inspector explained calmly. "He thinks us wealthy men and wants to milk us as thoroughly as he can. It would not do to decline this accommodation if we want to trap him."

"Very well," Madeleine sighed. "I trust your experience in such matters. What do you propose we do about the sleeping arrangements?"

Javert looked calmly at the bed and grunted thoughtfully.

"I propose we share it," he said simply. "It certainly is big enough. It should be no problem."

"You must be joking." Valjean stared at the police man in shock. He! Share a bed with the man who has hunted him over the years!

But this was not the man who had hunted him, just as he wasn't the man who had been hunted; this was a dedicated police hound who had taken up the scent, ready to capture his newest victim, and his master. There was nothing Valjean had to fear from this man anymore; he needed to remind himself of that.

"This cannot be the first time that necessity demanded you share a bed with someone," Javert frowned.

"Well… perhaps not, but—" he broke off, thinking that he was Madeleine, Valjean no longer, and that any protestations would only arouse Javert's suspicions. "I had not thought you would be comfortable lying with me. Not so long ago you wouldn't even shake my hand."

Javert's face grew dark, and he dropped onto the bed, facing away from the other.

"That was different," he said calmly. "You were once again forcing your kindness on one of your cases then. You persisted in treating me with respect when I deserved none. This has nothing to do with any of that. This is necessity."

"Very well," Valjean said, trying to force his pulse to slow down, but to no avail. He could hear the rush in his ears as he sat down on the other side of the bed, carefully straightening underneath the blanket so as not to accidentally come into contact with the Inspector.

"Are you finished wriggling around?" Javert grunted. "I realise this is not ideal. Under normal circumstances I would not dare ask a mayor to share a bed with a police spy, but I assure you, you are quite safe with me."

"Oh?"

"Indeed," Javert said and extinguished the candle beside him. "You will be glad to know that I am quite healthy. There are no diseases to be caught from lying with me."

"Ah, that is reassuring," Valjean smiled. "I, too, am in excellent health."

"Then this night should be of no further consequence."

"Indeed," Valjean said and thought that perhaps it might.

When he awoke the next day, Javert had already gone downstairs— to keep an eye on Thénardier, no doubt. Indeed, when he found the Inspector, Valjean noticed that he was giving the man the same weary look he had himself received when Javert had been new to the town and still thought him a convict. Seeing those piercing eyes fixed on somebody else for once was quite pleasing.

Javert's attention was divided, however, as Valjean soon realised. He was with one suspicious eye watching the crook sitting at his table and with the other, noticeably warmer, Cosette who was sweeping the floors.

"Ah, there he is!" Thénardier exclaimed upon noticing Madeleine. Javert looked up and met his eyes with an unreadable expression, but Valjean thought it might almost be… amusement.

"Your er— friend has just informed me of your— interest in my ward, little Cosette," Thénardier said uncertainly, but with obvious delight.

"Has he?" Madeleine asked with a look at Javert, who gave away nothing. He was sitting at the table without a care in the world, but when the mayor approached, he pulled out the seat beside him, drawing it closer to himself, and silently willed the man to sit.

"Yes, yes," Thénardier continued excitedly. "And I must say, of course it grieves me to even consider giving my dearest Cosette away, but if I knew she was in good hands, well…"

Valjean started when he felt a warm hand resting on his thigh and stared at Javert in barely concealed horror. The hound didn't even look at him, eyes fixed on the prey before him, but the sudden pressure of his hand on Madeleine urged him to be quiet.

"I can promise you, she will," Javert said calmly, and Valjean saw Thénardier nodding at the police man's hand on his thigh as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"I do not doubt it, monsieur," the inn-keeper said quickly, "but I would still need… reassurance. You understand— a man doesn't just hand over his precious little girl to any stranger who shows up on his doorstep."

"No, no, of course not," Javert said lightly. "That is quite right. That would not do. My… friend and I are most keen to have her. We would hate to leave without her. You see, we are quite smitten with her, she would be such a lovely addition to the family."

At those words the Inspector leaned against the mayor and reached for his hand on the table. Valjean's instinct was to draw away, but Javert was quick, and once he had a hold of the other's hand, his strong grip made quite clear that moving would be a bad idea.

"Of course, of course," Thénardier mumbled, and Madeleine could almost see the bills stacking up behind his eyes. "Well, who am I to deny you this? But I would still require reassurance. It is paramount that I know the girl can be provided for."

"Naturally," Javert nodded and started drawing circles with his thumb on the mayor's hand in his. Valjean breathed in sharply, but he was quite confident that Thénardier hadn't noticed; the man was entirely engrossed in trying to rob them. "My friend and I are quite well off. One additional mouth to feed should be no problem."

Thénardier seemed to contemplate that for a second before he stood and said: "That is all very well, but what am I doing! I must discuss this with my wife, of course, I couldn't give away our darling Cosette without speaking to her. You must excuse me for a moment."

Javert waved him off lazily, and Thénardier disappeared up the stairs. As soon as he was gone, the Inspector dropped Madeleine's hand and said: "Well, that was easier than expected."

"Care to tell me what the deuce is going on?" Valjean grit out between clenched teeth. The more time he spent in the officer's presence, the more likely he thought his heart was to give out. When he had felt Javert's hand on his, he had half expected the man to arrest him on the spot. The convict was still running, but the mayor…

The mayor was conflicted.

"When I came downstairs, Thénardier was already waiting," Javert said calmly, not meeting the other's eyes. "He asked me about the room and after a while I noticed that he had— er… particular ideas as to the nature of our relationship." He paused, and if the light hadn't been so bad, Valjean could have sworn the man was blushing. "He didn't give me opportunity to clarify, and when the topic of the girl came up, I decided it would be best to play along. Thinking that we are— well. In need of a child which is not our own, he will be more likely to rob us blind."

He was definitely flushed now. Valjean would have laughed at the sight if he hadn't been so shocked himself.

"Well," he said uncomfortably, not quite sure how to react to this confession.

"I apologise, Monsieur le maire," Javert said quietly, eyes downcast. "I should not have acted without consulting you. It was not my place."

"No no, please, Inspector," Madeleine waved off quickly, "I asked you for your assistance. This is exactly why I required you with me. You did well. There is no need to apologise."

"Thank you, monsieur," Javert said almost inaudibly, intently staring at the wood of the table.

"Although you DID hog the blanket all night," Valjean couldn't stop himself from adding.

"You have no proof of that," the Inspector said, but his shoulders relaxed visibly, and when he saw Thénardier return, he grasped for Madeleine's hand once again.

"As I thought," the inn-keeper said as he sat down with them once more. "My wife is terribly upset. She could not bear handing darling Cosette over without reassurance."

"Of course not," Javert nodded. "What would it take to… reassure her?"

Thénardier handed them a lengthy receipt, covering ridiculous expenses both Javert and Valjean knew were in no way connected to Cosette which amounted to almost 3000 francs. Madeleine might have been shocked at the sight, but the Inspector beside him smiled devilishly, and the convict knew his prey was trapped.

"Ah, see," he said and pointed at the top of the receipt, "this has already been paid for. As has everything else on this list."

Thénardier looked as if he had been struck for a second, but he recovered quickly and vehemently shook his head.

"No, monsieur, I assure you it has not," he said. "The mother owes quite a lot of money, and she hasn't paid in a while…"

"That is true," Javert nodded gravely, and the inn-keeper relaxed. "But I happen to know someone else has paid in her stead." At that he looked accusingly at Madeleine beside him, who shrank a bit in his seat even though he was taller than the Inspector.

Thénardier visibly started to sweat now, feeling a gold mine run through his fingers and said: "You must be mistaken, monsieur, this month has not been paid for."

"Ah," Javert looked contemplative for a moment, "in that case you will simply subtract it from the sum you owe my friend for forging the doctor's note you sent him."

The Inspector finally let go of Madeleine's hand and pulled out a piece of paper from his jacket. It was the bill the mayor had received a few weeks ago for medical attention 'Cosette' had received which someone had had to pay for. Valjean had given it, along with all the other letters he had received from the inn-keeper, to Javert on the ride here. He hadn't expected the officer to actually read any of them, but Javert was as thorough in this as he was with everything else, it seemed.

"The name is clearly wrong," Javert said calmly, the polar opposite to the fidgeting man in front of him. "My guess is one of your own daughters was sick, and you took advantage of the child's unfortunate mother who was obviously willing to pay whatever was needed to provide for her daughter."

Thénardier was silent, but his posture said the Inspector had been spot on.

"Further, I would say you charged the woman frequently too much for services you clearly didn't provide for her daughter," he nodded towards Cosette who was still sweeping floors in the corner, "like proper clothing and food."

Javert looked disgusted now, the calm mask crumbling under his righteous anger, and he was wholly inspector now, no sign of the spy to be seen.

"You are abominable, Monsieur Thénardier, and I would like to see you imprisoned," he hissed, tearing the receipt in two. "You would hand over a child to a couple of strangers, not sparing a second thought to the mother, who you robbed until she had nothing left but her body." He stood, and, as imposing as he had been before, he was now thoroughly terrible.

"We will take the child," Javert said, handing over Fantine's letter which gave them permission to do just that, "and you will receive nothing. What you did and what you intended to do are criminal offences, monsieur. I could put you behind bars."

He looked briefly at Madeleine who looked uncomfortable in his chair, and when he sprang up beside him he whispered in his ear: "The children, Javert. Who will care for the children?"

The Inspector frowned, clearly more than willing to leave the children to their fate if it meant getting the crook where he wanted him, but Madeleine's hand on his arm stopped him before he could say so. The mayor looked at him imploringly, willing him to do his bidding, and as much as he tried, Javert could not refuse him. He hadn't succeeded with the woman Fantine when he had still believed the man to be an ex-convict, and he certainly couldn't defy him now that it had turned out he was nothing other than the authoritative figure everyone thought him to be.

"I could put you behind bars," Javert repeated unhappily, "but I will not. I pray for your children that you treat them better than you did Cosette. Know that at this moment they are the only thing standing between you and the galleys."

He gestured for Madeleine to fetch Cosette, who had looked up from her work when Javert had started raising his voice, keeping a weary eye on the inn-keeper.

"Who are you?" Thénardier asked shakily when they were almost out the door.

"I'm Inspector Javert," he said easily, gluing the man to the spot with nothing but his fierce eyes. "I would advise you to remember me."


	3. Fantine

Javert's deception had paid off; he had played Thénardier like a violin and then left him, strings torn, in a dark corner with the promise to return for more. What he had not foreseen, however, was that someone else had also been watching, and his formerly ingenious strategy now returned to haunt him.

"Is this really true?" Cosette asked with wide eyes as she sat down next to Madeleine in the carriage. "Are you going to be my papas now?"

It took them a second to process her words, and when they did, they looked at each other in horror on one and amusement on the other side.

"You played your part well, Javert," Valjean chuckled as he observed Cosette hug her new doll tightly to her chest as if it was the most precious thing on earth. "The child thinks you are to be her father."

"No, papa," the girl said quickly, uncertainly grasping for his arm, letting go almost as swiftly as she had touched it, "both of you."

Javert could not speak; he felt himself reminded of the last time this had happened to him— it had been with the girl's mother. Usually not one at a loss for words, the Inspector quite plainly found himself speechless at his predicament.

"Ah," Valjean said quietly. "I always knew you to do your job exemplary. I should have predicted this sooner."

Javert did not hear him. His mind was fully occupied trying to make sense of what had just happened to him in the past minutes. First, Thénardier, the blasted crook, had assumed him and the mayor to be… some of those fellas. That had been well; it had been useful for his plan in the moment. Now, Javert couldn't help but think it odd. Why had the inn-keeper jumped to this conclusion? It must have been quite plain to see that their relationship was a purely professional one. This strengthened the Inspector's suspicion that Thénardier was indeed quite hopeless. The man would believe anything if it promised to make him money.

But now the child thought it to be true also, believed he and the mayor were indeed… like this. And that they would be her parents! Javert had been aware of her presence in the back of the room, sweeping the floors, but he had not expected her to pay attention to them— definitely not this keenly. The girl was obviously more observant than he had given her credit for. She also looked frightened, he noted with a start as he allowed his eyes to drift over her gaunt figure. She had recoiled once again into herself, looking at him with wide uncertain eyes as if he had just raised his hand to beat her.

Madeleine beside her had noticed it too, and he was trying to console her by putting an arm around her shoulders, but Cosette wasn't paying any heed to him.

"I angered you," she noticed in a quivering voice directed at Javert. "Forgive me, father, I did not mean to."

"I'm not—" Javert broke off, taking in her appearance; her torn clothes, her bare feet, the dirty hair, wide blue eyes shimmering with un-shed tears, and the constant frown on her face, left there by years of suffering… all this made him strangely uncomfortable as he looked at her, and he directed his gaze to the left where Madeleine seemed to be torn between calming the child and imploring Javert to do the same.

"You did not," the Inspector sighed finally. Arguing with the girl at present was no use; she was too young and too frightened to understand. "I was angry at your guardian."

Cosette shivered, and the mayor immediately wrapped her in his coat. Javert thought absentmindedly that they should have brought something for the girl to wear. Then again, they hadn't expected the situation to be quite this bad.

"You will not take me back to them, will you?" she shrieked and threw herself at the window to make sure they were far away from the tavern.

"I would rather take them back with me," Javert said darkly, but at the two wide pairs of eyes directed at him he added, "to lock them up in prison."

Cosette relaxed slightly, but not much, and the Inspector was almost certain that she couldn't get more calm than this. The more distance they brought between themselves and the tavern, the easier she seemed to breathe, but she was still a long way from comfortable.

She fell asleep shortly after he had reassured her, and he found himself strangely enthralled by the sight of her curling up on the mayor's lap.

"It was very kind of you not to correct her," Madeleine said eventually into the silence, thoroughly engrossed in playing with the girl's dirty locks covering his chest.

"She seemed very upset," Javert said dismissively. "It's a long drive to Montreuil-sur-Mer. We would not have enjoyed a scene in such close confinements."

"I see," the mayor nodded gently, and he could have sworn there was a small smile playing around the man's lips as he did. "Nevertheless. You have been on laudable behaviour this whole trip, Javert. It was almost enjoyable."

The Inspector said nothing, but the way he squinted at Madeleine told him that the man was insulted.

"As opposed to strictly business," Valjean explained, hiding his grin behind a hand scratching his cheek. "I must admit I had not believed you capable of putting aside your professional persona for such a long time."

"I don't understand what you're implying," Javert frowned, at a loss. "I'm always acting as an officer of the law, uniform or not."

"I wasn't talking about your garments, Inspector," Madeleine sighed. "You are aware that you usually appear to be very… harsh in your actions." He bit his lip, uncertain, and looked up from the child in his arms for a moment to meet the challenging eyes on the other side of the carriage before he said, "You were very gentle with Cosette."

"She is but a child," Javert mumbled, shifting on his seat like an anxious schoolboy. "She has suffered enough."

"I quite agree. Still, you could have been much more…" He broke off upon meeting the Inspector's raised eyebrow and closed quietly with a murmured "you."

"You believe me to be a monster," Javert concluded calmly. "That is hardly surprising, after what I did to you." He sighed and looked determinedly out of the window when he said, "You must know that it is not my habit to accuse honest citizen of mischief, demanding they be punished."

"No, of course not. I—"

"I should have known better," Javert continued, ignoring Madeleine's protestations with a dark look on his face. "I would never— if you hadn't— Monsieur le maire," he cried, and Valjean watched with concern as a broad hand held tightly onto short hair, "I cannot tell you what came over me. I was upset, that is true. Still, I should not have acted as I did. I want to apologise, but I know my words mean nothing. You will not have them. You'll say 'I forgive you' and be done with it, but it does not make a thing undone, your forgiveness. I want to ask you to release me, but you deny me my wishes. Ah, it is a damnable thing. What is there to be done if one cannot act against another's stubbornness?"

"My dear man," Valjean said half-moved, half-exasperated, "there is nothing to forgive. Nothing came of it. You are chastising yourself for making an honest mistake, one anyone could have made, and one which did not have any consequences. Do not concern yourself with it further."

"That was pure luck, Monsieur le maire," Javert said vehemently. "If the real Valjean hadn't been found in time, I would have testified against you, you must know that." He scratched his head and looked downwards when he mumbled, "and yet I do not know how I could have ever believed you to be him."

"Enough, I'll have no more of it!" Madeleine said sternly and forced Javert's hand away from his mistreated head. "I forbid you to ever speak of this again; effective immediately!"

"But, Monsieur le maire—" The Inspector looked as indignant as he did surprised.

"None! This topic is buried and forgotten," the mayor insisted. "The matter you chastise yourself for concerns me, and I say I will not have it; thus you are forgiven and all thought must be directed elsewhere."

Javert did not know how to react to this outburst. On the one hand, he desperately disagreed with the mayor. On the other, he had clearly just been given an order, and the Inspector hadn't disregarded one in his entire life. Deciding that he would not further disgrace this man, he chose to remain silent, but the matter was neither 'forgiven' nor 'buried' in his mind. He had done wrong, and this could not be undone. No words could convince him otherwise, not even the mayor's, but he did not dare speak against him.

Valjean, in the meantime, had suffered a wholly different turmoil, and yet not so unlike the one Javert had gone through. He had spoken the truth about wanting the Inspector to drop the matter, but his reasons were his own; he could not bear listening to Javert doubt himself and his abilities knowing that he had been right all along. He did not blame the man for suspecting him, just as he couldn't find it in himself to resent him for denouncing him. Javert was nothing if not honest, and Valjean was embarrassed and upset every time he was reminded of how he himself was not. He almost wished he could simply tell his pursuer the truth and be done with it, but that was out of the question. He had to resign himself to trying to mend what was already broken and hope his soul could still be saved.

Never before had he felt this insecure.

Cosette slept through the entire ride. Valjean and Javert exchanged a meaningful look when they heaved her out the carriage and she started awake with a terrified "I'm sorry, madame, I'll start sweeping right away!", but said nothing. When the girl realised where she was and whom she was with, she relaxed visibly and allowed Madeleine to carry her into the hospital, Javert one step behind.

If anyone had thought to ask why he was following, the Inspector could not have answered. He would have started and turned around on the spot to return to his duties, with perhaps a single confused glance back.

As it was, nobody asked, so he trailed along. Upon nearing Fantine's bed he did seem to notice that he was out of place and tactfully merged with the shadows close to the door while the others approached her; seeing, but never seen, and always with a watchful eye on his surroundings.

"Cosette," Madeleine said quietly as he led the girl into the room, "this is your mother."

Fantine's eyes were closed, but there was a happy smile playing around her lips, and Valjean knew she slept peacefully now that she felt her daughter was near. The girl stared with wide eyes at the woman in the sickbed and hid half behind the mayor, clutching his leg as if she would drown if she let go.

"Come now," he said softly and pushed her a bit in her mother's direction. "It's all right. I'm right here. She missed you terribly. You should say hello."

Cosette nodded slowly, and, with one uncertain gaze at Javert in the shadows, she approached her mother's side.

"Maman?" she said weakly, and Valjean thought Fantine couldn't possibly have heard it, but the woman immediately started awake and took in her daughter with wide eyes.

"My daughter! Cosette!" she cried and grabbed for the child's hand. Cosette was terrified, but Valjean was keeping a steady hand on her back to reassure her as well as prevent her from fleeing, so she simply nodded and stared back into her mother's wet eyes.

"Monsieur le maire," Fantine croaked, "you brought her to me! She really is here! Oh, you truly are a saint! My daughter!"

"I did not do it alone," Valjean said calmly, taking care not to startle the bewitched woman. "Inspector Javert proved to be a great help in the matter."

Fantine's head shot to the side, and Madeleine was temporarily worried it might roll off, so quickly did the dying woman move.

"I don't believe it!" she cried, and it was impossible to determine if she was pleased with the news or not.

"I tell you, he did," Valjean insisted, but it was Cosette whose voice was of value.

"Father was very kind to me," she said quietly, but with determination. "He wanted to put Monsieur Thénardier in prison! He was very brave."

Javert had become one with the shadows, but in that moment Valjean was certain the darkness could blush.

"My darling Cosette," Fantine said faintly and patted the girl's hand with glassy eyes. "Is this true? Was he good to you?"

"Yes! Look what he got me!" the child said with the first real smile any of them had ever seen on her face and pulled out her doll. Her mother looked at it in wonder and seemed to come to a decision.

"By God!" she murmured, "I must give him my thanks. Where is he? Someone get the Inspector, quickly! I must see him!"

Madeleine turned towards the door and gestured for Javert to leave his hiding place. The officer reluctantly made his way to the bed, but he could not refuse the mayor's direct bidding. He stopped next to Cosette and bowed slightly at the sight of the sick woman.

"Inspector Javert!" Fantine cried. "Why, what were you doing back there? I must thank you. My daughter is here, and that is due to you. Oh, I knew you were good. I knew you were kind! Monsieur! My thanks! You must have it!"

"I did nothing," Javert mumbled uncomfortably. "It was Monsieur le maire who—"

"Nonsense, my man," Valjean said and tightly grabbed his shoulder. "You did most of it. I could not have done it without you. You wouldn't lie to a sick woman, would you?"

The Inspector said nothing, but his posture suggested he might.

"Father couldn't have done it without you, papa," Cosette said with all the innocence of a child. "He needed you by his side."

Valjean stared at the girl in horror, and Javert blushed to the root of his hair. Fantine recovered first; with her free hand she grabbed for Madeleine's arm and dug her nails painfully in it to get his undivided attention.

"If this is true," she said quickly and with as much force as a dying woman could muster, "you must promise to take care of Cosette. She must be safe. You must take her!"

"I—" Madeleine started, but Fantine did not let him voice his concerns.

"You too, Inspector," she said with an imploring look in his direction. "You must promise."

"I don't think—" they said at once, but Fantine would have none of it. She held tightly onto one and stared daggers at the other, like only a woman who has seen much and suffered more ever could, until they both seemed to deflate and said, "I promise."

Fantine sighed happily, took Cosette's hands in both of hers, and was no more.

They took Cosette to a clothing store and left her with the owner for the moment, who was making a great fuss over getting her the prettiest — and most expensive — dresses imaginable. The girl enjoyed the attention greatly, and Valjean smiled gently at the sight before he turned to Javert with a frown.

"This is not going quite as I expected," he admitted darkly.

"I wouldn't have noticed," the Inspector said just us unhappily.

"I admit I am at a loss," Valjean sighed and tiredly rubbed his forehead. "What now? What to do with the child?"

"The mother seemed quite keen for you to have her," Javert said calmly, but his eyes wouldn't meet the mayor's.

"As I recall she wanted BOTH OF US to have her," Madeleine voiced what they were both thinking. "How could she believe this would ever work? What was she thinking?"

"With all due respect, Monsieur le maire," the Inspector said slowly, "she WAS dying. I doubt she was thinking much at all."

"She seemed quite determined to me," Valjean said darkly and rubbed at his sore arm. Javert's eyes flickered briefly to the spot before he met the mayor's and shook his head in a gesture of defeat.

"The choice is yours, Monsieur," he said almost softly, but Madeleine was certain he was merely trying not to attract Cosette's attention. "I cannot take it from you. The child is your responsibility. You must find a way to deal with it."

"Ah, but how?" Valjean growled and ruffled his hair. "I am nobody's father. I cannot possibly take care of the girl. Out of the question."

"I suppose you could give her away," the Inspector said and knew he would not. The mayor was too kind and too soft to hand over an already traumatised child to somebody else; they both knew it.

"That would be an option," Valjean said slowly and agreed with Javert's unspoken thought.

"Perhaps you should ask the girl," the police man suggested uneasily. "She will tell you what she would prefer."

"Ah." Madeleine swallowed heavily and evaded Javert's watchful gaze. "I suppose she will."

"In any case," the Inspector said quickly, and his voice was perhaps a bit too loud, or perhaps Valjean had just grown used to their whispers, "I should go. There is a lot of work to be done."

"I would expect so," the mayor nodded and shot a look at Cosette, who was now clad in a beautiful marine-blue dress fit for winter, "but you should say goodbye to her. She would be upset if you didn't."

Javert bowed slightly and said nothing. After a moment's hesitation he walked over to the girl and knelt down beside her, gesturing for her to turn around. When she did he grasped for the loose ribbon and started tying it into a carefully crafted bow.

"Cosette," he said lowly, and if Valjean hadn't known better, he'd have thought his voice broke slightly at the name, "I must leave now."

"No!" the girl cried and tried to turn around, but Javert held her firmly in place.

"I must return to my post," the Inspector explained calmly. "If I don't, the town will descend into chaos." Javert looked briefly over his shoulder, but the mayor found himself terribly distracted by one of the dresses in the window when he did, so he continued with a slightly raised voice, "It is important that the law is enforced and upheld, Cosette. You must remember this, for your papa will not."

"He doesn't have to," the girl said surprised and half-turned towards the man tying her dress. "You're the police man. You're doing it for him."

"Ha!" Javert grunted and scowled at Madeleine. "She's already like you. One day with you and the youth has already lost the right path! Monsieur le maire, you are a public menace. Your disregard for the law is corrupting the young."

"Not quite so dramatic, I hope, my dear Inspector," Valjean chuckled and stopped his pretended examination of the dress. "She merely pointed out that with a capable officer like you, us ordinary folk doesn't have to worry about the law."

Javert grunted and resumed tying the ribbon with a dark scowl directed at Cosette's back, but Valjean could have sworn the corners of his mouth were slightly lifted.

"Turn around," the Inspector said after a moment, having sufficiently admired his work.

"Do you like my dress, father?" the girl asked excitedly and swung the heavy skirt around her legs.

"I especially like the colour," Javert said and brushed off imaginary lint from her shoulder. "I'm not an expert with dresses, I'm afraid. I would imagine you to look pretty in anything, however."

Cosette blushed, and the Inspector followed suit. They looked past each other uncomfortably for a moment before Javert stood with an audible clearing of his throat and said: "I really must go now."

"But it's already dark outside!" Cosette protested and held onto the edge of his coat as if she wasn't sure she was allowed physical contact.

"Justice never sleeps, girl," Javert said indignantly and didn't remove her hand.

"But you do," she insisted and didn't let go.

"You have no proof of that."

"Actually…" Valjean interrupted thoughtfully and met the Inspector's glowering eyes with amusement.

"Go to the devil, both of you," Javert mumbled and turned to leave. Cosette's grip grew stronger, and she employed the second hand in her attempt to stop him.

"You will come back?" she said, and it wasn't quite a question.

"I'm always at my post," the Inspector evaded and tried to pry her fingers off his coat.

"That's not what I meant."

"Cosette—"

"No!" she flung herself at him and held onto his legs with the fierceness of a child that had always known pain and only recently discovered what it felt like to be loved. "You must promise! You have to come home!"

Javert looked at her in shock, and when he directed his gaze at the mayor, his feeling's were mirrored in the other man's eyes.

"Cosette," Madeleine tried softly, coming slowly closer so as not to spook her, "you may see Javert whenever you wish to."

"I want him to come home with us!" the girl insisted, and she was not to be moved. She had only recently felt what it was like to have a family; she would protect this phenomenon she knew so little about with everything she had.

"The Inspector has his own home to return to," Valjean said gently, resting his hand on her trembling shoulder.

"You said you would take me!" she shrieked, and the mayor saw tears falling down her big eyes. "You told him you would take me! That we would be a family! You promised maman!"

She was crying in earnest now, and she was more holding onto Javert's legs to keep from falling than anything else. Valjean felt his heart break at the sight, but he couldn't think of anything that would calm her. He wanted to tell her that she was right, and that they would all be together from now on, but he knew it to be a lie, and he couldn't bring himself to do it. He would have given her the world, would have bought her the most expensive toys and dresses in all of France and beyond, but this was the one thing he couldn't promise her, no matter how much it pained him to see her like this.

It was odd. Only a day ago he had never known love. He had never known what it was like to feel responsible for someone else, to feel their pain, to have the urge to do anything just to see them happy, and now he was looking at a girl that wasn't his and thought she was.

He looked up at Javert, who appeared to be just as lost as he himself felt, and wondered if this was what being a parent was like. Shouldn't it be easier? Perhaps it was because he was not her real father. Perhaps he would know what to do if he was.

"Cosette," Valjean said quietly and knelt down beside her. "Cosette, he won't go anywhere. He will be right here, in town, and you can see him whenever you wish. You can visit him at the police post every day. I know he would enjoy teaching you the law."

Javert glared at him, but he obviously had no better idea to calm the girl, so he only mumbled: "Someone has to."

"He can teach me the law at home," Cosette sniffled and clutched him tighter.

"Oh dear…" Madeleine sighed and rocked back on his heels. What was he supposed to do? The child would not be moved. She was obviously capable of great stubbornness, and something told him that she would likely cling to Javert all the way to the police station if she had to, and then some.

The mayor straightened with an uncertain look at the child and leaned close to the Inspector, who had eyed his ascension warily with the frown of a patient man who for the first time in his life found himself annoyed.

"She won't move," Valjean murmured matter-of-factly so only Javert could hear him. "Unless you're willing to drag her with you for the rest of your life, I would suggest we give her what she wants."

"So this is how you're going to raise her?" the Inspector hissed and didn't disagree with him. "You cannot let the child manipulate you. If it becomes a habit—"

"Let us not talk of the future right now," Valjean sighed tiredly. "I propose you stay the night at my house. The girl is still in shock. It was a long day for her. For all of us. We will explain everything in the morning."

Javert squinted at him and pressed his mouth into a line so thin it almost disappeared into his skull, but he nodded tightly; the tears had begun to stain his trousers.

"Cosette," Valjean said with some relief and leaned down to carefully grasp her shoulders, "he will come with us."

The girl immediately looked up from her heartbreaking wailing and asked with some suspicion: "Really? Is this true? He will live with us?"

"He must return to his post first," Madeleine said calmly, evading her question. "But he will come to our home after, I promise."

Cosette considered him for a moment before she squinted and shook her head, pointing at Javert.

"No, not you," she said determinedly, wiping her tears from her face with the back of her dress-sleeve. "He promises. Otherwise I'm not letting go."

Javert let out a thundering laugh at that, the first real sign of open amusement Valjean had ever witnessed from the man, and looked at the mayor with glittering eyes.

"She knows you well," the Inspector said with a trembling voice Madeleine thought might be a chuckle, "She knows you are not to be trusted. I keep telling you you are too soft; she knows you would say anything to please her."

Valjean said nothing, but when he met Javert's eyes, he allowed a small smile to play around his lips.

"Do you promise, father?" Cosette asked with urgency, shaking the end of his coat to get his attention. "You will come with us?"

"Yes, I promise," Javert said and thought he should feel resentment at this. "I will come with you."


	4. Madeleine

**Attention!** (or: you can skip this part if you want to; no hard feelings)

I want to apologise for using ";" as much as I do. It's my favourite key to press; I'm looking forward to every occasion. I feel like I probably shouldn't have an opinion about that, but I do. I've been spending too much time writing this fic. I've never had this problem before.

Also, I would like to take the opportunity to thank you all for your thoughtful and wordy comments. Believe it or not, they are actually making me feel really inadequate, and also a bit anxious because I'm afraid I won't live up to your standards (especially with this chapter; I would have torn my hair out if I'd thought it would help). So thank you for making me blush and fidget like someone seeing the person they're having their first crush on. I've been told this is approximately what it feels like. I don't like it, yet I do. Odd. Keep it coming. This is your opportunity to make me uncomfortable; I suggest you take it.

I'm so sorry. I did again. It's getting worse. I need help. And an end to this fic.  
I probably shouldn't have pointed it out. This is why I never add comments to my fics. I suck at this. I don't think I'll be trying THAT again.  
Just read it. Ignore the ";" as good as you can.

Ha!  
Good luck.

(this is also where it might get the rating it deserves, so if this isn't your thing I'm really not sure what I can do for you)

* * *

Javert returned to his post feeling somewhat dazed; knowing, intellectually, that he had just been outwitted by a child, but it did not compute for him. He walked through the darkness with heavy steps, and if he seemed a bit less involved with his duties than usually, nobody thought to mention it.

No matter how lost the Inspector felt, however, there was someone who was walking even less securely down the streets of Montreuil-sur-Mer that night than him, and that man was Jean Valjean. What was the mayor thinking when he took Cosette's cold hand in his and led her towards his house? To understand the violence of his emotional turmoil, we must examine what had happened to him in that shop.

No, perhaps it had started even earlier than that. The encounter with Fantine should be the start, for it was in those few minutes the former convict realised something very important. He had not yet understood what it was, but the seed for deeper thought had been planted at that woman's deathbed. It had continued in the shop when he had watched Cosette play with a selection of dresses like it was her first Christmas on earth; it had been in that moment that Valjean noticed a strange twinge in his chest. At first he had not understood it, but seeing her desperately clinging to Javert as if her life depended on it had finally opened his eyes; this was what love felt like.

He thought he was going to be sick when he thought about it, yet he could not help it. It was not only the girl; he could have lived with that. If she was to be his ward, loving her would only ease things until they fell into place; he was certain of that.

No, his problem was far worse than that.

Once his heavily guarded heart had been invaded, he suddenly found himself noticing other things. Things he had originally paid no heed to. It was only now, in the quietly judging moonlight, that Valjean realised that perhaps Cosette wasn't so childishly oblivious after all. When she had thought he and Javert would be raising her together, with the mindless acceptance only a child could display, he had thought she was merely shocked into forced happiness by being freed from the Thénardiers; now he wasn't so sure anymore. He thought perhaps the girl saw more than he would like.

He thought perhaps he had been watching Javert a bit too keenly when he was tying Cosette's bow.

He thought perhaps he had been too little amused and too much warmed at the sight of them together.

He thought perhaps he had been a little bit too eager in giving in to Cosette's demands.

He thought perhaps she knew all that and more; and that, more than anything, terrified him to the bone.

Jean Valjean remembered his days as a convict well. He remembered looking up at the guards, he remembered looking down at the others.

He also remembered other things. Things he had been trying to forget but found he could not.

Javert was not a handsome man, by any stretch of the imagination. He was too rough and too imposing, too big and too harsh, and there was a constant sneer on his face that made him quite ugly. He walked like he owned the very stones beneath his shoes, and the wretched vermin in the shadows shuddered at the mere mention of his name. He was brutally honest, and quite incapable of diplomacy. He did not negotiate, he did not give in. He was terrible in everything he did. His laughter alone would make a grown man shiver with fright.

He was also soft on the edges and surprisingly gentle when the mood struck him. He was formidable and brave, and he hadn't sneered at anything in days. It made his face… not prettier, exactly, but warmer, perhaps, or easier on the eyes. His presence was awe-inspiring, and only those who were trying to escape the law had anything to fear from its right hand. He never treated anyone unjustly or in a manner he would not see bestowed upon himself if the roles were reversed. He was incorruptible and everything an officer of the law should aspire to be. He had strong beliefs, and he stood by them, and perhaps his laughter had turned out to make Valjean tremble with something else.

It was not a good way of thinking, yet he couldn't help himself. Valjean didn't know when he had started seeing the Inspector in a different light, but he felt that it had been a slower process than he would like to admit; if he would have been honest with himself, he would have said it had started even before the trip to Montfermeil.

Jean Valjean was at a loss; he was also quite dead.

It was the mayor who was conflicted. On the one hand, he saw Javert as the trustworthy officer of the law anyone would be lucky to have, someone who was perhaps a bit harsh, but always just, and a man who had proved to be a valuable — dare he say it? — friend. On the other hand, the dead were still haunting him, as it seemed, for he could not help but flinch at the sight of the uniform, could not keep from starting when the Inspector raised his voice at an evil-doer, and could not avoid feeling a twinge of guilt whenever his eyes chanced a glance at the officer.

In short: he felt like he should regret accommodating Cosette and found he could not.

He showed the girl to her room, which he had furnished as soon as he had decided Fantine's child would be procured, not yet knowing that the arrangement would be permanent, and left to inform his housekeeper of the additional mouths to feed. When he returned, Cosette was happily showing her doll around the room, testing the desk and the bed, tucking her in as if she had never had a proper mattress before, and telling her innocently about her new fathers and how happy they were going to be.

Valjean watched her silently for a while, stopping half-way into the room, and listened to the girl tell Catherine about how Javert was currently arresting bad people like Thénardier so they would all be safe in their beds tonight. He caught himself smiling gently at the thought and cursed silently before he approached Cosette from behind.

"Do you like it?" he asked and gestured around the room when she turned around with a raised eyebrow.

"It's beautiful, papa," the girl smiled and clutched the doll tightly to her chest. "Is it really mine?"

"Well, I'm afraid you'll have to share it with Catherine, but other than that…" Valjean said with a fake frown at the offending toy, and Cosette laughed with delight.

"She can stay," she said determinedly and sat her down on the bed. "She will watch out for burglars for me when I sleep."

"Oh? Is she a dog then?" the mayor asked and examined the doll closer. She was beautiful. Her features were soft, her face shone bright in the candlelight, and her dark blue dress was falling easily down her side; an expensive toy, one could see it at first glance.

"No," Cosette said with the indignation of someone dealing with an especially slow child, "she's a police woman."

"A police woman?" Valjean repeated stupidly and thought perhaps the girl was treating him just right.

"Yes," she sighed patiently. "Like father."

"Ah." The mayor was at a loss. He had thought after the initial shock had passed Cosette could be moved to ease off her idea of the family portrait in her mind, but it seemed that she only embraced the imagined future more with every passing minute. He did not know how to explain the situation to her and neither did he want to. A tiny voice inside his head told him to let Javert deal with the unpleasant task of destroying the girl's dreams, but he quieted the little traitor quickly; if he was to be Cosette's papa, it was his responsibility to tell her the truth, not Javert's.

Still. He disliked the idea of being the evil parent.

He started violently and looked at the girl in horror. When had he started seeing himself as "papa"? And more importantly even than that: when had he decided who was to be which kind of parent? He was going to raise the child on his own; there WAS no other parent. He had to be both good and evil.

He wished Javert was here to guide him with his unfailing honesty and strong opinions. He would tell him what to do, and he would be blunt about it.

He should stop thinking about the Inspector in such capacities. It was not part of his duties, and he wouldn't always be at hand to be asked for advice anyway; Valjean had to stop thinking of him like he would.

They waited for the Inspector for less than an hour, and Madeleine thought perhaps that should have seemed odd to him. Perhaps he should have expected him not to show up at all. Yet there he was, and Valjean could not find it in himself to be surprised.

Cosette was delighted, and she eagerly showed Javert to her room, almost bursting with pride at her possessions. Valjean thought maybe he caught the glimpse of a relaxing of muscles around the Inspector's eyes when the girl showed him her neatly stacked dresses in her closet, but he might have just as well imagined it. He found he could not trust himself with the reading of Javert any longer; he seemed to be attaching too much importance to it.

At dinner Cosette led the entire conversation, and she talked like a mute who had just received the gift of speech. Watching her was enthralling, and Valjean found he could not get enough of it. He was doing his utmost not to pay attention to Javert at the other side of the table, but found his eyes travelled towards him against his will quite a lot, and thought perhaps he wasn't the only one who was captivated by the lively little girl who seemed to differ so much from the one they had picked up in Montfermeil.

His traitorous thoughts travelled in dangerous directions whenever he caught himself watching the precise motions of Javert's hands, and once, when he suddenly found himself staring at the Inspector's lips upon hearing him laughing at one of Cosette's stories, he had to actually shake himself to rid his mind of the images this evoked.

Dinner was taking far too long and far from long enough.

It was a study in contradictions. He would look at Javert and wonder what Cosette possibly saw in him, and as he did he would catch himself thinking that the smile suited him quite well. At the same time, when he dared let his eyes touch the Inspector's relaxed form, he would feel something inside his chest warm, but the sensation was immediately followed by a violent anger at experiencing it. He would see Javert merge with the scene as if he had always been there and always will be and think he ought to force him out.

He did not envy himself those feelings. He was as confused as he was conflicted, annoyed at his own disability to discern what his wandering thoughts were trying to communicate, and angrier still that he was no longer master of his own mind.

He would have made the past undone if it had been in his power, only to end up in exactly the same spot again.

Valjean was running in circles in his own mind, and every round was more disconcerting than its predecessor. He felt trapped and didn't want to escape. He was upset and had never felt as calm as he did when he looked at the people sitting with him at the table.

Yes, he was conflicted; he was also quite happy.

After dinner, Javert led Cosette into the bedroom and allowed himself to be talked into telling her a story about a thief he once arrested and the stab-wound this had caused him. The girl was delighted, and she gasped at exactly the right points in the tale, causing the Inspector to smile uncertainly down at her when she wasn't looking at him. Once the story had come to a conclusion, Cosette demanded more, but Javert would not be swayed and told her if she promised to abide the law he could perhaps be persuaded to tell her another tale the following night.

He left the child to sleep, possibly lingering a fraction of a second too long in the doorway, and returned to the dining room. The mayor was looking at him with a raised eyebrow that told him his hesitance had been noticed, but chose to remain silent. The table had been cleared, and Javert suddenly realised that this was the moment he had been dreading ever since the shop.

They looked at each other awkwardly, neither of them willing to make the first move, and fidgeted in the candlelight. Javert was glad the room was mostly clad in darkness; he neither wished to see nor to be seen.

Eventually, when the silence had almost become heavy enough to crush both of them, the mayor audibly cleared his throat and said: "Well. I suppose it is getting rather late."

"Indeed it is," the Inspector said slowly and regarded the markings of the table with fascination he didn't feel.

"I, uhm…" Madeleine cleared his throat again and made a hesitant step towards the bedroom, "I think it's time to retire."

Javert said nothing, but he felt never before experienced anxiety creep up his spine at the thought. He did not understand this sudden dread, for he had shared a bed with the mayor only the night before, but he could not shake it off regardless.

"If there is somewhere else you have to be—" Madeleine said quickly and perhaps a bit too hopefully, but Javert could not find it in himself to lie. There was nothing that required his attention tonight, and he would not pretend that there was.

"I am quite free," he said measuredly and took something that couldn't in good conscience be called a step towards the mayor. The man didn't flinch, but the quick movement of his eyes revealed he had noticed.

"Cosette will be pleased, no doubt," Madeleine said and, again, cleared his throat. It was feeling rather dry all of a sudden. He should probably have a glass of water.

Or a bottle of whiskey.

"She is a good girl," Javert evaded and fixed the wall behind the other's head. "There might be hope for her yet— regardless of her guardian's influence."

The mayor made a strangled sound that might have been an aborted mix of a snort and a chuckle and met the Inspector's eyes over the table for the first time since he had come from Cosette's bedroom.

"I let one woman go free, and already I'm the lawless stain on your perfect world," Madeleine sighed and was glad the candlelight didn't provide Javert with a good view of his contorted face; he could not have determined himself whether he was smiling or grimacing. "Inspector, I almost think you don't want me to be an honest citizen."

"My wishes are irrelevant," Javert said quietly and evaded the mayor's gaze. "Your disregard for the law has nothing to do with me."

"Ah, we must forever disagree on this, I fear," Madeleine sighed and took a determined step towards the bedroom. "And anyway, this is not a discussion for such an hour. We will have to agree to disagree for the moment, lest we wake Cosette."

Javert nodded tightly and didn't pursue the matter further; he was stalling for time and they both knew it.

The mayor shot one last glance in his direction, unconsciously licking his lips, and turned abruptly on the spot, all but fleeing into the bedroom. Javert followed more slowly, each step deliberate on the wooden floor, and felt like running; he was merely uncertain about the direction.

Once inside, the Inspector hesitated briefly before closing the door quietly behind himself, and one involuntary glance in the other's direction told him he was being watched intently through the moonlight. The room was filled with crushing silence for a moment too long, and then they both moved towards the bed at the same time.

They collided almost softly at the foot, each determined not to notice the other, and looked up.

Nobody made the first move, yet their mouths somehow clashed together, and Javert thought, almost in an out-of-body experience, that that ought to be impossible.

He felt a hand tightening around cloth and realised it was his own. He knew, intellectually, that he was clinging to the mayor's shirt, but his brain couldn't make sense of it; it was almost automatic. In turn, he felt an arm around his waist and thought this could not be.

It was odd.

The mayor seemed to have regained most of his wits by now, for he opened his mouth and assaulted Javert's with his tongue. The Inspector thought briefly how nonsensical that motion was before his body allowed him in and reluctantly met the other's tongue with his own. It was rather awkward at first, but eventually they figured out the motions, and Javert could have sworn he heard a slight groan with unknown origin.

His hand involuntarily tightened around the shirt it was clinging to, and he thought he ought to be forcing it away.

His body did not comply. He had lost all control over it.

The other man somewhat hesitantly cupped his head with his free hand, and Javert belatedly realised that he was being tilted backwards when his back had almost hit the mattress. The mayor was strong, and it seemed quite easy for him to move them both into a horizontal position. Javert thought that should alarm him; he wondered why it did not.

His own hand had found its way around Madeleine's back now, and he almost reverently felt the defined muscles through the light shirt. A man like the mayor shouldn't be so strong, yet he was; he also shouldn't be caught in an embrace with a police spy, but here they were.

Javert marvelled at the absurdity of the universe as he let go of the shirt and snaked his hand around the other's neck. He found his current position bizarre, yet knew he could not bring himself to change it.

Well.

Perhaps there was ONE thing he could see done differently.

The mayor was the stronger of them by far, but Javert had the advantage of always having been as cunning as quick. With the resourcefulness of a police spy, he spun them around and pressed the other into the mattress with a firm hand on his chest. Madeleine looked at him with wide eyes but didn't protest and simply recaptured Javert's lips with his own after having been separated by the manoeuvre.

The Inspector conceded defeat in the battle of tongues with half-hearted indignation because he was busy wrestling out of his suddenly far too tight shirt before he grabbed for the other's. Once he had rid both of them of the cloth, he grabbed for the mayor's hair and engaged him in a bruising kiss, pressing their chests together as tightly as he could without merging them together. Madeleine scratched his back just short of painfully, and Javert was quite certain that this time the groan was his.

He fumbled for something between their bodies and eventually managed to discard his pants with a satisfied hum. When he grabbed for the mayor's, the other man bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, but Javert hardly felt it. He threw the offending piece of clothing into the darkness and bit Madeleine's tongue in revenge for the lip.

He felt a pair of fingernails trail down his back and reciprocated by reaching between them again, this time with nothing there to stop him, and taking both their lengths into his rough hand. They both moaned into the kiss at that, and when Javert picked up speed, Madeleine gave up every pretence of constraint and tightly took his hair into an unrelenting grip.

The Inspector broke away and breathed heavily into the mayor's neck, feeling himself suddenly compelled to taste it, and ended up biting down quite strongly when he twisted his hand a bit with an unexpected result. Madeleine groaned, and it didn't sound like he was in pain, so Javert licked the sore spot and nibbled on it again, feeling the hand in his hair tighten slightly at the motion.

The nails on his back dug in deeper, and the mayor leaned up slightly, nibbling his way along Javert's jaw before his teeth sunk unexpectedly into the other's earlobe. It was too much; the Inspector came with a muffled cry and let his head drop on the warm shoulder beneath it. He breathed heavily for a moment or two before his hand determinedly resumed stroking the mayor's length, and his mouth found his way onto the other's again.

Now that he was entirely focused on the other man, he won the battle of tongues easily, and his free hand playfully brushed the other's nipples whenever the mood struck him. An absent part of his mind tried to tell him that this should not be, that he could impossibly be in a position just as this with the mayor— he, a police spy!, but it was no use. The voice was ignored, and his pace picked up.

He felt Madeleine's fingers break the skin on his back and the moan in his mouth, and knew he had succeeded. He allowed them a moment of catching their breaths before he rolled off and stared at the darkness above him.

He felt as sick as he did elevated, and he couldn't decide whether he was content or horrified; he only knew that he had to get out, and quickly. He wasn't quite sure what had just taken place, but he was certain he had just committed a gross offence involving a mayor, and the thought constricted his chest with sudden violence.

He jumped off the bed and grabbed his clothes in the darkness as swiftly as possible, not daring to chance a look back, and bolted out of the room.

The mayor didn't stop him, and he thought perhaps he wasn't the only one at a loss.

* * *

I have always shied away from writing porn because I honestly don't think there's an un-awkward way of saying "erection" and other stuff, and I usually skip reading the "hot bits" in other fics, but in my experience readers expect there to be smut, so this is my attempt at it.  
It went better than expected. I'm actually quite pleased; I might be doing it again.

(I'm also semi-certain this should still be suited for this rating, but I never quite understood that system so I guess what I'm trying to say is don't report me)


	5. Interlude

Javert walked through the night with uneasy steps, and his conscience was weighing heavily on his shoulders. Incidentally, the same restlessness had befallen Valjean, but we will come to that later. For now, the Inspector was the more anxious of the two.

The tall figure passed houses clad in silence and darkness on his way into nothingness, and he felt ready to merge with his surroundings as he did. Javert felt hesitant and uncertain, for perhaps the first time in his life, and he did not know how to proceed. There were no precedents to follow, no rules to oblige, nothing to take the responsibility of making a choice off his hands. This had nothing to do with the law, and the Inspector thought that this must be how a machine without a purpose would feel if it was capable of experiencing emotions.

Proper decorum and order pushed Javert to believe that what he had done was a gross offence. A mayor should not lie with a police spy, that he was certain of.

A police spy should, however, on the other hand not refuse a mayor's wishes, and, based on the evidence, Madeleine had very much wanted the Inspector to do what he did.

Javert found himself at a loss. He was torn between two fixed ideas, and he couldn't decide which one had more merit.

Madeleine clearly outranked him and therefore was his superior. As such, the Inspector had to follow his orders and comply to his wishes. That was well. That path was clear, and while the mayor had never actually uttered a word during their coupling, his actions had spoken for themselves; Javert had no doubt about his initiative having been appreciated.

So far, he had done an excellent job doing what was right.

Nevertheless, there was a second thought to consider.

Again, Madeleine clearly outranked him and therefore was his superior. Javert had also, fairly recently, accused the mayor of being a former convict and forever disgraced everything he stood for, insulting the man's authority to the bone. He had already committed an unforgivable crime related to that man; he felt like he had just added another to the list. A mayor should not lie with a police spy. It had been Javert's responsibility to prevent the activities of the last hour from happening, he was certain of that.

He had failed Madeleine once again, and in the end this thought was the one that sticked with him as he wandered aimlessly through the night, the stars alone guiding him through the hollow emptiness of the streets.

Little did Javert know that his conscience wasn't weighing half as much as Madeleine's. The mayor had not moved from his position on the bed, afraid that doing so would somehow make the situation real, while in horror coming to terms with the fact that he had just insulted Javert in the worst way possible.

Valjean thought how the Inspector would react should he ever find out the truth about his unexpected partner and shuddered violently at the thought. No, Javert could never know. It was impossible; he would surely kill him without a moment's hesitation.

The former convict slowly sat up in his bed and grabbed his hair tightly in desperation. What had he been thinking? How could he have allowed the situation to get so out of hand?

He carefully put his feet on the ground and grabbed for a robe. Once he had wrapped himself up, he tiptoed carefully out of the room and into Cosette's, stopping just short of fully entering, and allowed himself to observe the girl's peaceful slumber. It differed so severely from the nap she had taken in the carriage that Valjean thought for one unprepared moment that they might have taken the wrong child home. Cosette was at ease now, a hand lazily draped over her doll, and her features were relaxed rather than contorted in quiet suffering as they had been from the moment Valjean had met her.

He knew what had brought on the sudden change and found himself unable to make sense of it. The girl knew nothing about the terrible mistake he had just made, still thought that they were all going to be a happy, if fairly unconventional, family, and rested peacefully with the thought of a better life.

Knowing that he would have to destroy her picture of the perfect future in the morning broke his heart so violently that he believed to hear it shatter.

There was nothing to be done. Javert was gone; he had forever ruined any chance they might have had, and even though he had known that ever since he had convinced the officer that he wasn't the convict he was looking for, Valjean still thought he might have allowed himself to get lost in the illusion for a moment too long.

He thought he should regret his actions and found he could not; if he could not have the life he wanted, he would at least always have the memory of this night and the one time Javert revealed there was a man behind the uniform and took pity on a little girl.

When Cosette awoke the next morning, she knocked softly on Madeleine's bedroom door and entered with uncertain steps when he told her to. She looked around almost too quickly to notice and frowned at the obvious lack of a certain someone.

"Where is father?" she asked and clutched her doll as if she knew the answer.

Valjean considered her for a long moment, watching her over the desk he was writing on, and sighed heavily. He had thought about how to handle this situation all night, but even so, actually going through with his plan seemed unthinkable now that the child was looking at him out of wide eyes.

"Cosette," he said slowly and put down his pen with careful deliberation, "Javert is…" He broke off, breathing like a drowning man with his head above the water, and took a moment to actually SEE the girl he was talking to.

She was shivering despite the warmth of his bedroom, and her knuckles had turned white on the doll she was clinging to. Cosette was trembling slightly and breathing like it caused her physical pain. Her eyes were moist, and Valjean knew he would not have to tell her anything; she had already figured it out.

Against better knowledge, he found he could not bring himself to confirm her suspicions for fear his heart would actually break into pieces at the sight of her tears. It was odd; for years he had felt nothing but blind hatred in its purest form, and after that guilt, threatening to crush him with every passing minute, but now he found he could not help but notice feeling… other things. Pain, for one. Pain at knowing he would be responsible for destroying Cosette's happiness. Pain because he thought he could never have what he yearned for. Pain that had been stacking up for years and now finally decided to break out.

There was also sadness, grief… but most of all, there was love.

It was so sudden and unexpected that Valjean had to do a double-take on his own emotions only to realise that yes, what he was feeling really was love. He had had his suspicions, of course, but, never having experienced the emotion before, he had been uncertain; not anymore. He was absolutely positive that what he was feeling for Cosette as he was watching her trying to be strong for both their sakes was love.

He looked at her and thought she was his, and he was hers, and that, no matter what happened next, that fact could not be changed.

He realised at the same moment, however, that there was something else that held just as true also.

Cosette wasn't his alone to keep. She had given a part of her heart away to another man, and no matter how much either of them fought against it, the heart wants what the heart wants and can never be swayed; the girl was Javert's as much as his now, and he would have to accept that for his daughter's sake.

"Javert is at his post," Valjean sighed and stood from his chair, approaching Cosette carefully so as not to spook her. "There is a lot of work to be done, and he has missed a whole day when we went to take you home. I'm sorry he couldn't stay until you awoke; I'm sure he is too."

The girl eyed him suspiciously, slowly wiping away tears the mayor hadn't even noticed falling, and said: "Really? So he will return?"

Valjean hesitated momentarily, frozen half-way towards her, before he made a spontaneous decision and strode purposely out of the room and into the hallway.

"Even better," he said and grabbed both their coats. "We will visit him at his post. I'm sure he will very much enjoy teaching you the law in practice. He must have been itching to do so ever since he met you."

Cosette laughed in delight and hastily put on the coat the mayor was handing her. They left the house in a hurry instigated by the girl, and even though she didn't know where exactly the police station was, her steps were determined and Valjean had a hard time keeping up with her.

If he had thought the child might be persuaded to let go of Javert before, he would have had to admit knowing better at the sight now. Much like newborn ducklings, Cosette had been imprinted, and the first person to show her kindness in a sea of pain and agony had been the police spy who Valjean would have sworn — just three days ago — was incapable of being gentle.

He had been wrong about so many things in his life; why should his opinion of Javert have been any different?

Valjean entered the police station somewhat hesitantly behind Cosette, who had no such quarrels and simply stormed in, prompting every officer inside to eye her with equal amounts of amusement and confusion. The mayor was temporarily enjoying the sight before he overheard the girl asking for her father and the officer she was talking to displaying a moderate amount of confusion at the query.

"Er, Cosette," he steered her away from the police man as swiftly as he possibly could and manoeuvred her into a somewhat sheltered corner, "Those men don't know about you yet. They won't understand what you're referring to. Perhaps it would be better not to involve them."

He was trying to be calm, but his mind relentlessly bombarded him with pictures of Javert realising everyone in town thought him to be the girl's father, no mother in sight. Thankfully, the officer Cosette had been talking to seemed to shrug her off as a confused child who had entered the wrong building and returned to his work without a second thought, but if he wasn't careful, the girl might make things awkward and hard to explain for all of them when he wasn't looking.

Cosette wasn't listening; she had spotted Javert's head buried over a pile of papers and was hurrying towards him before Valjean had time to react.

"Father!" she said in a voice that was perhaps a bit too loud for such a confined space, but hardly anyone seemed to pay attention to her. Javert's head snapped up, and he met her big blue eyes with barely concealed horror before he jumped out of his seat and hesitated on the spot, torn between fleeing the scene and taking her with him.

Instinctively, his eyes moved towards where the mayor was hurrying to grab the girl and his face contorted, running through a colour range of white and red tones, with a hint of green every now and then. Valjean wasn't doing much better, but found himself unable to evade Javert's piercing eyes, and prayed the police man would ease off before he embarrassed himself in front of the other officers.

As if reading the mayor's mind, the Inspector's eyes returned to Cosette, who was beaming at him from behind golden locks, clutching the doll tightly to her chest. Something in his expression shifted, and he grabbed her hand with a heavy sigh, having crossed the distance between them in a heartbeat, gently but purposefully dragging her out of the station, urging the mayor to follow with a dark look.

Once they were a more or less safe distance away from the post, Javert let go of Cosette's hand and scowled at her and Madeleine with equal intensity. Whatever quarrels he might have had before, his anger overshadowed his uneasiness by far, and he found himself quite capable of meeting the other man's eyes over the child's head in his righteous indignation.

"Care to explain yourself?" he prompted once it became obvious the mayor had no inclination to take the hint and crossed his arms impatiently.

"Cosette wanted to see you," Madeleine said calmly and gestured at the girl in a movement that clearly stated what he thought of the Inspector's deductive abilities in that moment.

"I was working," Javert pointed out equally as redundantly, but his expression softened slightly at the mentioning of the child.

"Papa said you would teach me the law," Cosette interjected with all the innocence of a child oblivious to their parents' quarrelling. The Inspector considered her in wonder, painfully aware of his own anger practically oozing from his pores, and thought she ought to be afraid; he was unsurprised that she was not.

"Well, someone ought to," he mumbled and knelt before her. "I did not expect to see you in there. You should tell me if you're going to visit; I might not alway have time for you when you want to. You have to understand that."

Cosette nodded quickly, clutching Catherine tighter, and looked down for a moment, uncertainly biting her lip before she threw herself at him and hugged him as closely as she could with her meagre arms.

Javert stared at her with wide eyes, taken aback at the sudden intimacy, and found himself unable to push the girl away. His gaze involuntarily jumped to Madeleine, who seemed just as surprised as the Inspector at the sudden display, and thought if Montreuil-sur-Mer's resident philanthropist did not know how to deal with the irrational actions of a child, he himself couldn't possibly hope to stand a chance.

His arms found their way around Cosette's trembling body with less hesitancy than he would have liked and held her as she tried to compose herself.

"I thought you were gone," she admitted quietly, for his ears only, but one look at the mayor told him the man did not need to hear what she was saying; he knew exactly what was bothering her.

"I'm always here," Javert said in as soothing a voice as he possibly could and knew he was evading.

"That's not what I meant," Cosette said darkly, picking up on the Inspector's tactic. "I thought you were going to leave us."

"As long as your papa is running this town, there is no place I could possibly go in good conscience," Javert replied dryly, and he thought he caught Madeleine looking at him with equal amounts of exasperation and amusement.

"So you will come home tonight?" the girl asked, as aware of the other's favourite way of not-lying as she was of his unquestionable honesty. The Inspector wondered briefly how a child could possibly have seen through him after having known him for two days when no one else ever had, and found he could not bring himself to be surprised. The girl was smarter than anyone had probably ever given her credit for, and he would not make the mistake of underestimating her.

He also had absolutely no idea how to answer this question.

Cosette was obviously out for a definite confirmation, and Javert knew instinctively that she would not let him get away with anything less than the absolute truth. He looked up at the mayor with uncertainty written all over his face before he made a sudden decision and gently, but deliberately, pushed Cosette far enough away from him to look into her eyes.

"I have to speak to your papa," he said without preamble and applied subtle pressure to her shoulders, silently willing her to agree to the deal.

"And then you'll come home?" the girl asked suspiciously and shot a quick look at Madeleine behind her.

"I could not say," Javert admitted and met her hard eyes with equal determination. "In any case, you are welcome to visit me whenever you like, and I will make time for you if I can. That I can promise; the rest I cannot."

Cosette looked torn between bursting into tears and hitting the man holding her steadily away from him, but she settled on glaring at him and clenching her jaw.

"I don't understand," she said eventually and looked between Javert and Madeleine as if she meant it. "Why can't he come home, papa? He has to! We're a family! Families live together!"

The mayor winced as if in pain and dropped down beside Cosette and the police man, trying to find a way to properly explain to a child what he himself did not understand.

"It's complicated," Valjean said lamely and found two pairs of raised eyebrows directed at him when he looked up.

"What your papa is trying to say," Javert grunted and barely suppressed an exasperated eye-roll, "is that there are some things that need to be discussed before we can give you an answer."

"But why?" Cosette pouted and looked between the two men beside her. "We're happy together. Why does it have to be complicated?"

Javert and Valjean both laughed loudly at that and stood, fondly patting her head, before they looked uncertainly at each other.

"You're still young," the Inspector said and locked eyes with the mayor. "You will learn."

They left Cosette with the mayor's housekeeper and walked Javert's usual round through the town in silence for a while before Valjean couldn't take it any longer and burst out: "I must apologise."

"I think not," the Inspector snorted and continued to walk, not meeting the other's eyes with his usual determination.

"Javert…"

"No," the officer interrupted with a shaking of his head, "I will not allow you to bestow your kindness upon me again; it is frankly exasperating. I would like you to cease treating me as a child or a charity project, for I am neither. I am aware of my mistakes and willing to take credit for them; I do not wish for you to take the responsibility from me in a misguided quest of benevolence."

Valjean considered him quietly and thought this was the exact opposite of how he had wanted this conversation to go. Javert was once again blaming himself, and in this moment the former convict realised that there was no way for him to convince the Inspector otherwise.

He was at a loss.

There were two roads laid out before him, and he found himself unable to choose either.

If he treated this as a mistake, Javert would think he had been the one to make it, and Valjean had already done the man enough injustice to last a lifetime; he couldn't possibly add to that list if he was to have any hope of redemption.

If, however, he went down the other path, convincing Javert that they had done the right thing, he would knowingly subject the Inspector to further embarrassment should his true identity ever be revealed.

What was he to do?

One road put his soul in further jeopardy, the other his life, for if Javert ever found out the truth, he would surely kill him— as was his right.

His decision was made. His life was already forfeit; he had put it into the Inspector's hands as soon as their lips had touched, or even sooner than that, when he had pretended to be a mayor when he was a convict.

Valjean stopped Javert with a gentle but strong hand curled around his wrist and pulled him quickly into his arms before the other had time to react.

"Believe me," the former convict breathed quietly against the Inspector's lips, meeting his wide eyes with calm ones, "I'm not doing this out of kindness."

Knowing that he was stronger than Javert by far, he eased his grip on the man just enough to allow him an escape should he wish for one and gave him a second to pull away. When nothing happened, he closed the distance between them and covered the Inspector's lips with his.

Valjean had made his choice, and so had Javert. For better or worse, their futures were tied together now, and the former convict laughed into the kiss at the thought of the Inspector ever discovering his secret.

Perhaps, when all was said and done, death would even come as a blessing.


	6. 24601

I promised smut. I delivered. It might not be blindingly amazing, but I made a valiant effort. Happy Easter.

* * *

Whatever it was Cosette saw in him, Javert did not understand it.

He was never gentle, and always strict, and yet she adored him like a saint. Perhaps children have the power to see inside our hearts and unravel our souls with one bright-eyed discerning look unbeknownst to us; we shall never know. The fact remained that Cosette, in all her childish wisdom, saw what no one else did and treated Javert with as much heartfelt love and admiration as she bestowed upon Madeleine. It was… something new for the Inspector, something he couldn't quite put his finger on— but it was not unwelcome.

As for the mayor… it had taken Javert months to completely come to terms with their redefined relationship, but now, two years later, he could no longer follow his own reasoning at the time. The man integrated into his life seamlessly, and it seemed ridiculous now to consider a future without him.

Javert had never relied on anyone, had always followed his own path, had walked through life on his own, but now there was someone to be thought of whenever there was a decision to be made, someone who would care if he disappeared from one day to the next, someone who would remember him once he was gone.

Their relationship was Montreuil-sur-Mer's wort-kept secret; officially, they were living together out of necessity on Javert's part, who earned so little as a police man that he could no longer afford the rent, and charity on Madeleine's, who could always be counted on to help a fellow man in need. Cosette had been told not to speak about their domestic life in school, and she kept that secret like something holy that dare not be mentioned for fear of attracting the wrath of the divine. Whenever someone brave enough to question the official story approached one of the two fathers, they would, in Javert's case, deem them with one coldly raised eyebrow that would quickly silence the daredevil for fear of getting arrested; when stepping up to Madeleine, the enquirer was met with unbreakable silence and a sermon about the righteous path of men.

Thus was their life.

Cosette visited the local school by day, and in the afternoon she would follow Javert on his rounds, eager to learn about her father's profession for the sole reason of knowing her excitement pleased him. Madeleine would read to her at night, disapproving of the Inspector's recollections of past cases and therefore claiming this spot in Cosette's life as his own.

Their lives might not have been ideal, but they were good, and neither of them would have changed anything if they could have.

Alas, as everything on earth it couldn't last; Javert was a suspicious man by nature, and Valjean had known from the beginning that going down this path would cost him dearly.

It started with nothing. An old acquaintance of Javert's came to town, and while they weren't exactly friends, the Inspector didn't find the man displeasing, so they went out for a couple of beers and talked about their profession. Half-way into the evening the newcomer mentioned the Champmathieu case in passing, dropping hints that the mayor of this town had also displayed some interest in it by arriving in Arras a day after the trial.

Javert's curiosity was instantly piqued. What reason could Madeleine possibly have had to undertake such a tedious journey for a case that didn't concern him? A part of the Inspector wanted to believe it was nothing but his damnable good nature again, probably intending to somehow ease the convict's suffering, but another, darker, and infinitely more vocal part insisted that there was but one logical explanation for such bizarre behaviour.

After having extracted all the available information from his acquaintance, Javert stumbled into the night, breathing in deeply once outside the tavern, unconsciously looking up at the stars as he aimlessly hurried into the dark.

There were many things that had been bothering Javert from the beginning, most of them shrugged off as unlucky coincidences when it had turned out he had been accusing the wrong man of being a criminal. Some, however, had remained to make the Inspector frown at the man by his side from time to time, uncertain where his weariness sprang from but unable to shake it off nevertheless.

The obvious parallels had been, of course, the beastly strength of the mayor that still, after all this time, didn't compute for Javert. A man in Madeleine's position, at his age, no less!, simply should not be so strong; that was a fact. There was also the slight dragging of his leg that might have sprung from a chain, but could just as well be a sign of old age or a riding injury. Madeleine's marksmanship was impressive, but not wholly unusual on the countryside, especially not for a man in his position, and was therefore mostly ignored in Javert's assessment.

The physical similarities were definitely there, it couldn't be denied, but the mayor could just as well have one of those faces that somehow remind one of at least a dozen different people at first glance alone, so that also wasn't factored into the Inspector's deductions.

What aroused Javert's suspicions the most was, quite plainly, all the things that WEREN'T there.

Madeleine never spoke about his time before Montreuil-sur-Mer, and he never mentioned his family. His childhood was completely off-limits, and whenever Javert asked a personal question, the man would evade him and trick the Inspector into revealing a story of his own. It was maddening, but so far Javert had simply assumed that perhaps the mayor's childhood hadn't been much better than his own, in which case the Inspector could wholly sympathise with not wanting to speak about it.

Javert decided that he had too many vague leads and not a single one that would actually get him anywhere, so he resolved to get concrete answers that night; he could bear the uncertainty no longer, and as he looked up at the stars, he thought he might regret this decision come morning.

"You're home late," Madeleine noticed when Javert stumbled through the door with uncharacteristically hesitant steps. The Inspector merely looked at him out of tired eyes and walked towards Cosette's bedroom to assure she was asleep. Satisfied, he moved on to the bedroom he shared with the mayor and waited for the other man to follow.

Once they were both inside, he closed the door behind Madeleine and, leaning tiredly against it, said: "Take your shirt off."

The other man froze, staring at Javert wide-eyed but not alarmed.

"You haven't even said hello yet," he noticed, more confused than anything.

"I won't ask twice," Javert said calmly, not moving from his position at the door, but his posture brooked no argument.

"Hard day at the police post?" Madeleine asked, slowly unbuttoning his shirt under the other's watchful gaze.

"Not exactly," Javert said and was at once glad for and annoyed at the lack of lighting in the room. For his purposes something more illuminating than the moonlight would have been beneficial, but seeing as he didn't actually want to find anything this was just as well.

"Are you going to talk to me about it or…?" the mayor frowned, stopping in his quest to undress for a moment to consider Javert with concern. "You don't look well. Are you all right?"

"Just… undress, please," the Inspector forced out between clenched teeth and rubbed his aching temples.

"What's going on?" Madeleine asked, agitated now, and walked up to Javert to observe him more closely. "You're very pale. Are you sick?"

"Perhaps I am," he sighed and looked up to meet the other's eyes. "I pray I am."

Before the mayor could react, Javert threw himself at him and covered the other's lips with his own. After a moment's struggle he succeeded in ridding Madeleine of his already opened shirt and flung it carelessly to the floor. Determined, he manoeuvred them towards the bed, dropping both of them on the mattress before the mayor had even had time to process what was going on.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Madeleine asked breathlessly, torn between urging Javert to tell him what was bothering him and continuing with what they were doing.

"I'll definitely be much better if you don't speak," the Inspector pointed out and pressed their mouths together again while trying to wrestle both of them out of their pants. Madeleine took pity on him and, patting the other's hands away, rid both of them of their remaining clothes, looking up at the Inspector out of expectant eyes.

Javert thought there was a realistic chance his heart might actually break in two should his suspicions be confirmed, but even knowing that he couldn't bring himself to stop. He grabbed for the bottle of oil they stored in the nightstand and skilfully entered Madeleine's body with slick fingers.

The man beneath him writhed shamelessly on the sheets, careful not to make any sounds, but he didn't need to to spur Javert on anyway. If this was to be the Inspector's last night with this man, he would make the most out of it.

After having sufficiently prepared his partner, Javert carefully extracted his fingers again and allowed himself to let his eyes linger on the form beneath him for a moment.

Two years. It had been like this for two years, and only now that he might lose it did he realise just how important this life was to him.

Overcome by sudden and violent anger, Javert entered Madeleine's body in one swift motion, causing the other man to bite down on his shoulder hard enough to draw blood. Excited for all the wrong reasons, the Inspector thrust into him with merciless precision, enjoying the ragged breathing this caused in the other man.

Madeleine leaned up by way of clinging to Javert's shoulders and pressed their lips together, sucking on the Inspector's tongue before he bit down harder than intended when the man hit an especially sensitive spot. Javert smiled cruelly at the knowledge of having that much power over this man and thought that if his suspicions turned out to be untrue, he would never forgive himself for believing they were not.

He lazily tasted the sweat on the mayor's jaw, trailing his tongue along the slightly stubbly skin before he sucked on an earlobe and listened with satisfaction to the groan this inspired. Madeleine looked up at the light chuckle that escaped him and said with fake indignation: "You seem to be enjoying yourself tonight."

"Perhaps I am," Javert shrugged off easily, slightly adjusting his angle to silence the other man.

"Then why don't you look happy?"

"Be quiet," the Inspector murmured and forced the silence with a kiss, picking up pace just to make certain it would hold.

Once he had finished, he dropped his head on the other's shoulder with an audible exhalation of air, closing his eyes to avoid being confronted with the reality of life, lazily taking the other in hand while he was thinking.

Did he really wish to know? He couldn't enquire directly; should his suspicions be wrong, there would be no need for him to revolt against this, but Madeleine would likely never want to speak to him again. It was a miracle he had forgiven him the first time; Javert couldn't ask for a second act of kindness he didn't deserve.

When he looked up again, he found himself confronted with a pair of observing eyes, and he realised belatedly that the mayor had also finished.

"Something's bothering you," he said with conviction, frowning up at the man leaning over him.

"Some people like to call it 'thinking,'" Javert said, rolling off to stare up at the darkness.

"Mm, yes," Madeleine nodded contemplatively, "but I know your thinking-face, and this is not it."

"You know many things, Monsieur," the Inspector said quietly. "Sometimes I wonder if we wouldn't both be better off if you didn't."

The other considered him for a moment in silence, turning towards him with concerned eyes, and, drawing circles on Javert's bare chest, said, "What happened?"

"Nothing," he grumbled, uncertain whether he loved or loathed the physical touch on his skin.

"You seem especially gloomy today," Madeleine pointed out, interpreting the other's repellent behaviour as a wish to be left alone, so he removed his hand again and simply let his piercing eyes do all the talking.

"'Especially gloomy'?" Javert asked, finally looking at the man beside him with a raised eyebrow.

"If you're going to object, I want you to know that I will definitely question your self-assessment," the mayor said, a small smile playing around his lips.

"Hmph," the Inspector snorted, turning away again. "Very well. Not everyone can be happy with the world and everything in it all the time."

"If that is what you think of me…"

"It is not," Javert sighed, and he meant it. He was no fool; he had noticed how uncomfortable Madeleine was in public, how contemplative he looked whenever he thought no one was watching him, and how draining it was to keep up the benevolent 'father of the town' persona all the time. He had noticed all of this and more— which was exactly where his problem lay.

"I'm sorry," the Inspector said and hesitantly took the other's hand in his. "It's just a headache. Don't worry about it. I shall be fine tomorrow."

"Do you need to see a doctor?" Madeleine frowned, instantly doing the exact thing Javert had asked him not to.

"No," the Inspector groaned unhappily, knowing full well what that man was like when he went into nursing-mode; he had observed him take care of Cosette often enough, and he definitely didn't want to be on the receiving end of his concern. "All I need is sleep. It was a long day."

"Very well," Madeleine said, unconvinced. "But if you're not better tomorrow…"

"I shall see a doctor, yes," Javert sighed and turned towards the window.

He didn't see the other observe him for another minute before he finally turned away and closed his eyes, but he didn't have to anyway. Javert knew Madeleine better than anyone, which was exactly why the thought of having his suspicions confirmed frightened him so much: he would be right, that much was true, but he would not be happy about it, for it would mean that the past two years of domestic bliss had been a lie.

Javert had never had a family of his own, his parents both being criminals, and he had never had friends either; in part because he never sought any, and in part because others had always perceived him to be too harsh and unyielding to be likable. Now that he had found both a family and a friend in Madeleine, he could not bear to think about what it would be like to return to his old life and habits.

For the first time in his life, Javert found himself praying that he was wrong, and as he did, he knew he wasn't.

Javert waited patiently for the other man to fall asleep before he rolled out of bed and grabbed for the candle on the nightstand, hesitating briefly before lighting it. Breathing in deeply once, he turned towards the sleeping form on the bed and came as close with the candle as he dared without waking the mayor up.

With a calmness he didn't feel, he inspected the other's wrists and stopped himself from breathing in sharply when he saw the damaged skin. Closing his eyes briefly, Javert moved downwards, carefully lifting the blanket off the sleeping man to expose his feet and almost dropped the candle.

He didn't need to continue. He had planned to look for the whip-marks on his back too, but the Inspector had spent enough time with convicts to know the scars of a ball-chain when he saw them.

Deflated, Javert put the extinguished candle back where he had taken it from and, after dressing with precision that seemed odd to him, left the room to flee into the night.

What was he to do now? That man was clearly a convict; there was no other explanation.

Nobody else knew or would ever find out, Javert was certain of that, but he couldn't in good conscience ignore what was so blatantly staring at him from the abyss. He had no choice; Madeleine had to be reported, and the Inspector had to give up the life he had gotten used to.

The mayor woke up in the dead of night to find Javert had left the bed. Upon turning around, he spotted the Inspector standing at the window, staring up at the stars as he was wont to. Without looking at him, clearly having heard Madeleine wake up, Javert said:

"I know who you are."

"Ah." The mayor sat up slowly, eyes never leaving the other's back. "So is this what has been bothering you?"

"Aren't you going to deny it?" Javert asked, voice dangerously low.

Valjean was silent for a seemingly endless moment before he said, unflinching: "That would only serve to insult us both."

"I cannot believe…" Javert hissed, gripping the windowsill hard enough to turn his knuckles white. "Every kiss, every touch you stole from me!"

"I stole nothing," Valjean said with a calmness he didn't feel. "Everything I took, you gave willingly."

"You knew I wouldn't have agreed to any of this had I known who you really were," Javert spit out, finally turning to glare at the man on the bed with utter hatred.

"And who is it that I really am, Inspector?" Valjean scowled, leaning forward to meet the burning eyes with angry ones of his own. "Even after all we've been through together, after two years LIVING together, you still think I'm a monster, simply because I made a foolish mistake 30 years ago!"

"You are a criminal," Javert reminded him quietly.

"That was a long time ago, and even then I was never the beast you believed me to be," Valjean said tiredly. "How can one act of thoughtless misbehaviour in my youth have more weight than the two years we spent together as a family?"

"You were a grown man when you committed your crime, 24601," Javert growled. "And you have been lying to me ever since!"

"I have not."

"You had me believe you were an honest citizen!"

"I was; I am," Valjean insisted, jumping up from the bed to approach the other now. "I am a changed person, why can't you see that?"

"Men like you can never change," Javert spit out and moved towards the door, trembling with anger.

"But I already have!" Valjean insisted, stopping on the spot when he realised he was cornering the Inspector. "Please. You must see it!"

"I see nothing but a convict who tricked an officer of the police into believing in a childish dream," Javert said calmly and opened the door, but he hesitated before stepping through. Without turning around, he said so quietly Valjean almost didn't hear him: "If I ever see you again, I will throw you in the galleys."

And that was that. With those last warning words Javert left, and Valjean could only grab his belongings and Cosette before the Inspector returned with the paperwork to arrest him.

After Madeleine had disappeared without a trace, Montreuil-sur-Mer evolved into the unremarkable, poor city it used to be once again, and Javert left almost on the same day the former mayor did, taking a posting in Paris after the wishes of the secretary of the Prefecture.

Neither of them knew where the other was headed, just as neither of them thought they would ever cross paths again, for if they did, Javert would have to arrest Valjean, and that was something, again, neither of them found desirable.

Javert had let Valjean go because he hadn't received an order to arrest him, but they both knew he would never have hesitated had someone demanded the ex-convict's wrists in chains; as it was, the only reason Javert hadn't immediately reported him was, quite plainly, that he lacked any concrete evidence and 'Jean Valjean' had already been found and convicted two years prior.

The real Valjean was no one now, and for the first time in his life he actually felt like it.

* * *

Well, okay, maybe not SO happy Easter, but you all knew this was coming, don't deny it. 2 more chaps to go. Exciting.

(and, again, don't report me, please. I will never figure out those ratings.)


	7. Marius

When the report reached him, Javert felt years dropping on his shoulders, lying there heavily as if he had spent decades in Paris rather than months. His instinct roared at the story like a tiger, but he forced his head to take control over his body before it betrayed him.

'The beggar who gives alms' could be no other than him, he was certain of that; yet what were the chances? The probability of the convict fleeing to Paris when he himself had been reassigned there… It was not unheard of for criminals to venture into the mother of all cities to get lost in the labyrinth of streets and empty faces. Valjean knowing this was likely; just as likely as it was for him to guess Javert would look for him there first, if he dared.

He had doubts. The years with Valjean had ruined him, perhaps, for he thought it unbelievable that anyone other than him could pay kindness to beggars, but Javert had to admit, objectively, that it was quite possible for any number of men to behave in such a manner.

Nevertheless, he had to investigate. The Inspector was plagued with questions of a kind he did not dare contemplate, and he saw in this alms-giving beggar a desperately needed distraction if not an answer.

The shock that went through his body when he finally raised his eyes was enough to make his heart stutter and skip a beat before presuming to hammer in his ears with insistent urgency. No, it was impossible. It could not be. He wouldn't be here, not so close, not in this town, not in front of Javert. Yet he could have sworn that in the moonlight… No. It was an illusion, it had to be. Javert had expected to see him, and his brain had provided him with the desired image, no more.

He was in doubt.

Confronting the man could play out in two ways, and neither was desirable for the Inspector: the first scenario saw him accusing an innocent man, a man who was poor himself and yet still somehow found the means to help his fellow men, of being a criminal; that was unthinkable. Javert could not contemplate the idea without being overcome by a disgusted shudder. The second possibility, however, seemed even grimmer. Upon confronting the man, should he turn out to be the suspected ex-convict, he would have to arrest him, for this was what he had promised this criminal — and himself — to do should the day ever come. Javert experienced no satisfaction at the notion. Indeed, he felt detached from the dilemma he was in with a sort of exhausted wariness.

He could not win, and, upon perceiving this, he ceased to care.

Considering his situation to be a losing game, he decided to do the only thing he COULD do and followed the man home.

He felt as ridiculous as agitated. Could it be him? Every time he thought he had his answer, he convinced himself of the opposite once more. It was no use; he could not discern whether this was the man he was hoping as much as fearing him to be or not.

Javert chased his suspect and the child through the streets of Paris with doubts gnawing at his very bones, more than once finding himself ready to turn around and walk back to his station before his curiosity made him decide against it. It was only several streets away from their starting point that the light of a lamp made him start and stare in shock at the figure before him.

It was him.

There was no doubt about it, no other could take his place in Javert's mind any longer. And the child with him, although she had grown in the past months, was Cosette.

Javert felt a sharp pain in his chest as the realisation hit him with full force, and he stumbled.

No.

He had been supposed to never see either of them again; meeting both of them here, in Paris, the city he had fled to as if into a mother's arms, was too much to bear for a heart that was unaccustomed to being moved.

Javert stopped and contemplated the stars without seeing. Should he follow? Pursue them further, confront and arrest them? Would he dare?

Would he dare put Valjean's wrists in chains in front of Cosette? Would he be able to withstand the child's accusing look when he took away her father?

His entire life, Javert had been content with being an outcast, always alone, always considered with barely tolerating wariness. As long as he could be certain of doing the right thing, the lawful thing, he paid no mind to any factors attempting to provoke a change of heart in him; now, for the first time since he could remember, he felt himself trembling with indecision.

To arrest Jean Valjean and bring a dangerous criminal to justice meant harming a pure-hearted child, taking away the life she was supposed to have, filled with wonder and love, wanting for nothing. What felt like a lifetime ago, Javert would have laughed at the thought of hesitating; now he thought nothing could be harder than the choice that lay before him.

He thanked and cursed the gods for not having to make it when he looked back down again and found the strangers he would once have referred to as family were gone. Even after looking into every alley, every corner, every doorway they could have hidden in, Javert could not find anything but darkness, and when he finally gave up, the night had swallowed him.

He did not know that, years later, he encountered Jean Valjean again. Without being aware of it, he had perhaps saved the ex-convicts life by intervening when he did, before Patron-Minette could harm their prisoner.

It had been nothing but chance that made him stand in for the Superintendent of Police on the day that Marius Pontmercy came to declare a crime about to happen, and only the mentioning of the house he suspected to be used by the gang made him pay attention to the young man he endured with wariness.

Had he known who it would be he would save from the claws of those criminals, would he have come to his rescue still? Would he have dared?

It was impossible to say. As it was, however, Javert did not know. He had no chance to inspect the prisoner when he stormed the house, and by the time he was ready to turn his attention to the man they had freed from his bonds, the suspect was gone.

Javert was annoyed at this turn of events, but had he known just who it was that had barely slipped through his fingers, he might have preferred to be kept in the dark.

Months after this incident, Javert was once again confronted with the demon that seemed determined to haunt him through his life, but they both found themselves in a position they had never thought possible.

Valjean was no less surprised at seeing Javert than the Inspector was at seeing Valjean. The barricades were no place for either of them, and that they should both find themselves here, looking at each other as if from far away, detached from their surroundings, seemed bizarre.

Javert did not even start. He simply averted his eyes and said, as if to himself, "of course," and that was that. He did not see Valjean again until the man offered to shoot his brains out, and even then the Inspector couldn't find it in himself to be surprised.

He followed the man slowly, sore from a night spent in an awkward position, and endured the strong hands helping him across the barricade with quiet dejection. Only when they were both standing on the other side of the heap did Javert look up to meet the other's eyes and broke the silence that had enclosed them like an icy vice.

"Do it then," he said and almost smiled at the irony of his situation, "revenge is yours at last."

"You would think that," Valjean sighed, and Javert thought he might have heard a question, but neither of them said anything further. His keeper considered him for a long moment shrouded in crushing silence and finally produced a knife from his pocket.

"A knife-thrust!" Javert exclaimed with bizarre amusement, "you're quite right; that suits you better."

"You haven't changed then," Valjean noticed quietly, and his bearing suggested neither relief nor dejection at the observation. He said nothing more, only cut the ropes that still tied the Inspector's limps tight to his body, and looked up to meet Javert's eyes with a steady gaze, a warm hand still lingering on the other's mistreated wrist.

"You're free to go."

Javert heard the words but did not understand them. In his mind they jumbled apart and together, reforming, reordering, mutating into something dark, something thick and heavy, stretching like rubber in his brain until there was no crease unfilled by the empty mass. He looked away, at the street, at the houses, at the barricade behind them, but he found no answers.

When there was nothing left to stare at, his eyes snapped back to meet Valjean's, and he swallowed heavily when the heat from the other's hand started spreading through his arm and up his chest until it reached his head. Javert could feel the other's proximity as suddenly and as acutely as if he had just been struck by lightning, and he thought dazedly that such an occurrence could not have been less pleasant. His heartbeat had sped up to the point that he heard nothing save the blood rushing in his ears, and his wrist tingled where Valjean was touching it.

The air suddenly seemed too thick to breathe, and the heat was unbearable. Javert thought his situation might be improved by escaping the other's intense gaze, but he found he could not evade it. Upon attempting to avert his eyes, the Inspector realised that there was nowhere else to turn. In this moment, the world was Valjean, and Valjean was the world. Javert thought the other man might know it as well as he did, for he appeared unconcerned at losing the Inspector's attention for now.

"You're mocking me," Javert said finally, quietly, barely above a whisper, causing an unhappy frown to form on the other's face.

"I'm doing no such thing," Valjean said with as much exasperation as annoyance. "Do you really think me capable of shooting you in cold blood? Is this the man you thought me to be for all these years?"

"I'm starting to believe I might have been wrong to think anything at all," Javert replied, not knowing himself whether he was being honest or mocking.

"I never lied to you," Valjean repeated a promise made a lifetime ago. "You know me, Javert." He took a step towards his captive, bringing their faces inches apart, and looked imploringly into his eyes. "You KNOW me. You always have."

"The man I knew was nothing but a guise for an escaped convict," the Inspector said, but he lacked conviction. He was tired. Tired of the barricades, tired of his life, and, most of all, tired of second-guessing himself about Jean Valjean.

"The man you knew was a man who had turned from blind hatred to God," Valjean insisted, bringing up a strong hand to hold the back of Javert's neck with desperation. "Please. You have always known me, you are the only one," he said, and his voice trembled. "As a prisoner, as a redeemer, and then… I was unworthy of God's consideration, I knew, and yet I tried. By God— for God, I tried! But I always felt as if it wasn't enough, as if I wasn't enough."

Valjean sighed, face turned downwards, and Javert noticed with a frown that his eyes had become moist. Composing himself, the other looked up again, meeting his eyes with determination and said steadily: "I was a man who had been raised from hell towards God, but only when I met you did I see the light. It all meant nothing until then. I knew not what love was and tried to bestow it upon others! You were right. My kindness was misguided, but not for the reasons you thought. It was wrong because it wasn't good enough. What I did, I did because felt I had to in order to prove myself to God, and I was wrong."

Javert felt the hand at his neck tighten, and he was afraid of taking anything but shallow breaths, for fear of waking the slumbering beast in the man before him. Valjean had turned terrible, for there is nothing more terrifying than the heartbreaking image of despair. He was clinging to the Inspector like a lifeguard, and his agony could not have been greater had he been drowning; Javert saw all this and could not make sense of it. The blatant display of emotion did not compute for him, for it stood in stark contrast to everything he believed the former convict to be.

Meanwhile, Valjean had worked himself up into a state of utmost agitation, and his eyes were blazing when he held Javert's in place with a single look. "Until you, I tried to be a better person. Only when I found you did I actually become the man I needed to be. God gave me a soul when I left Toulon, but you raised it from perdition. I don't know who I'd be without you."

Javert swallowed heavily, impossibly loud in the silence following Valjean's confession, and slowly licked his lips.

It was how he had felt about Madeleine, when the man still existed as his own entity. Now, he was confronted with the reality of Jean Valjean being the man that had transformed him into the best possible version of Javert. It was unthinkable; to be dependent on a criminal to function to the best of his abilities… And yet it was true. Javert perceived this and despaired.

"So you are mocking me after all," he said quietly, meeting Valjean's clouded eyes with dark ones of his own.

"I would never," the criminal whispered and leaned forward, resting his forehead heavily on Javert's shoulder.

"What you're asking is impossible," Javert said just as silently and frowned at his unwillingness to push the man away, perfectly aware of Valjean never having requested anything.

"Then I will require an impossible reply," the former convict said slowly and raised his head to meet the Inspector's eyes once more.

"You are the devil," Javert murmured and breathed in heavily, filling his senses with Valjean until he could take no more, until he reached his breaking point and slumped forward, pressing his lips against the other's with desperation burning in his gut.

Valjean reacted instantly, grasping his hair with a trembling hand, and pressed them as closely together as he could. His fingers dug into the other's side, and he clung to him as if Javert was the shore he had reached after days of fighting against the storm at sea.

They broke apart a lifetime later, breathing heavily, and Javert could feel the bile rise in his throat at the thought of what he had just done. Panicked, he tried to extract himself from the other's grip, but Valjean would have none of it. He held onto Javert with iron fists on his lapels and looked at him sternly.

"I am not the devil," he croaked and brought their faces closer together again, "and neither are you. I must go now, before the others take notice." He looked uncertainly between the barricade and the street leading away from it before he turned to Javert again. "I will not lie; I don't expect to make it out of here alive. In case I do, however, I want you to find me. I'm lodging at No. 7, Rue de l'Homme-Armé, under the name of Fauchelevent."

"I will arrest you," Javert said blankly, distracted by his brain repeating to him 'I don't expect to make it out of here alive' again and again until he could hear nothing but the blood rushing through his veins.

"I'm counting on it," Valjean smiled sadly and squeezed the other's shoulder with cold finality. "Now clear out."

Javert was too dumbfounded to reply, simply let himself be ushered into the direction of the way out by Valjean, and only turned around when he had almost made it around a corner.

"Cosette," he said at last, finally voicing the thoughts he had not dared to contemplate before, "is she—?"

"She's fine," Valjean smiled, and for the first time since their unhoped for meeting his face lit up. "You should see her. Actually, yes. Go see her. If I don't— She would want to see you. She has missed you terribly."

Javert nodded tightly, not trusting his voice to carry the burden of his thoughts and turned around again. Over his shoulder he said: "I'd rather you killed me."

"I know."


	8. Valjean

Following his unexpected release from Valjean, Javert did the only thing he felt himself capable of doing and resumed his duties. He made his way to the right bank of the Seine, as ordered, and waited for something to happen that would distract him from his poisonous thoughts. He didn't have to wait long; as soon as he arrived at the spot, he could see a suspicious figure moving away from him, prompting Javert to follow it with pleasure.

When he found the entrance to the sewers, which was — to his great annoyance — locked, he decided to simply wait for either the same or another person to appear. He had time, and the more of it he spent on his duties, the less he had for contemplating the events of the past hours.

It was with some surprise that he observed a man crawl out of the entrance he was guarding, and even more unexpected that he had not been noticed. When he made himself known, the man started, and Javert watched him tremble with some satisfaction before he asked calmly: "Who are you?"

"Me."

"And who's that?"

"Jean Valjean."

Javert growled, fell to his knees, grasped the man by his shoulders and glared with the anger of a demon at the prey in his claws. Once he had convinced himself that it was, indeed, Jean Valjean, he let go and stood ramrod straight again, stumbling backwards with a faraway look on his face. He heard the other say something, but he could not make out the words. His ears were filled with the rushing of his blood, his heavy heart beating in his chest with a vicious violence he had never known before.

Javert was torn between all-consuming relief at the sight of the other alive and, as far as he could see, well and burning rage at once again having to cross paths with the devil. Since he could not make up his mind or, indeed, his heart, Javert stared at the in sewage covered man with a grave frown and murmured with dreamlike detachment: "What are you doing here? Who is this man?"

Valjean considered him quietly for a moment before he said carefully: "We need to get him home as quickly as possible."

"You didn't answer my question."

"He is severely wounded; there is no time to lose, Javert," Valjean insisted and grabbed for his burden's pulse as if to reassure himself of the urgency of his mission.

The Inspector contemplated both of them for a moment before he dipped his handkerchief into the water and wiped the lifeless face with it. "I know that man," he said slowly, allowing the memory to come back to him, "he was at the barricades. Marius Something."

"He's wounded; he needs a doctor," Valjean pressed, the urgency clear in his voice, but Javert would not be hurried. He carefully grasped for Marius' wrist and frowned at the former convict.

"He's dead."

"No," Valjean said with a vehement shake of his head, "not yet."

Javert observed him with some curiosity and asked: "You carried him from the barricade?"

"His grandfather lives in the Rue des Filles-du-Calvaire, but I forgot his name," Valjean said, ignoring the other's questions as before. He took the notebook he had originally read the address in from Marius' pockets and handed it to Javert, whose eyes flew over the scribbled words with practised ease in the dim light.

Eventually, the Inspector raised his head and yelled: "Driver!", causing the other to start in agreeable surprise.

With Valjean he heaved Marius' lifeless body onto the backseat, taking his place beside his convict in the front. They drove off in silence, neither of them daring to look at the other, both of them afraid of causing irreparable damage should they open their mouths to undoubtedly release words of resentment and betrayal, so they chose to embrace the leaden quietness that followed broken hearts.

Only when they had dropped Marius off at his grandfather's did Javert realise that this was the moment he had been dreading for the past six years; it was time to arrest Valjean and denounce him. The Inspector felt that he should be glad at the prospect of finally catching his convict after all these years; instead, he was merely exasperated when he found he was something— but not that.

"So here we are," Valjean said as if he had been thinking the same, which seemed likely. "You got me at last."

"It would appear so," Javert said vaguely, entering the fiacre behind his convict, who seemed especially fidgety now they were alone.

Once Valjean had settled into his seat, he raised his eyes to meet the other's and said carefully: "I know it's not my place, but I would like to ask one more favour of you, if you permit it."

"I'm not surprised," Javert sighed, but didn't stop the other from continuing. Valjean, too, noticed this and took advantage of the Inspector's exhaustion.

"You may arrest me now, I know you want to, and I will come willingly," he said quickly, observing the other intently as he continued, "but I must ask you to permit me to see Cosette one last time. I need to say goodbye to her, settle matters. She should not be punished for my wrong-doings."

"You intend to tell her about your past?" Javert frowned, recalling the small girl he had spent too little time with, and the convict sitting in front of him now as her father. He could not see Valjean admitting just what kind of a man he was before he met Cosette to anyone, least of all the girl in question.

His face must have shown as much, for the former convict sighed heavily and, after looking briefly away, said: "No. I intend to tell her that I must go away, and provide her with instructions as to where the money she will require in the future is to be found. Besides…" He broke off uncertainly, considering Javert with a guarded expression.

"Well, what is it?" the Inspector asked impatiently, tapping his fingers lightly against his knee.

"I need to tell her about Marius' fate," Valjean explained carefully. "She would want to know what became of him."

Javert considered him for a long, terrible moment. When it had passed, he leaned back in his seat, crossed his arms and said: "Well."

"I think she means to marry him," Valjean elucidated. "And there is reason to believe he intends the same for her." He looked expectantly at the Inspector, awaiting a reaction, but he received none. Javert was staring stubbornly ahead, chin buried in his collar, brows hiding his eyes from the other's watchful gaze in the moonlight.

Eventually, the former convict couldn't take it any longer and said: "If she marries him she doesn't need me any longer. You came at a fortuitous moment, Javert. I am ready to be taken."

"Is he worthy of her?" the Inspector said absent-mindedly, ignoring what the other had just said. "I cannot claim to having had the best experiences with the boy."

Valjean looked at him for a moment, taken aback, and stammered: "Er… Well… He is…" He frowned and said blankly: "Actually, I do not know. Cosette appears to like him, and that has to be enough for me."

They shared a dark look, their personal dispute forgotten for the time being, and reunited in their dislike for Marius. Once the moment had passed, however, Javert leaned out the fiacre and said to the driver: "Rue de l'Homme-Armé, no. Seven."

Valjean considered him in quiet awe, careful not to be caught in the act, and only dared disturb the companionable silence that had built between them once the carriage started moving.

"Are you going to see her?" he asked, intently observing the other's reaction at the sudden question. "She would be surprised, no doubt, but just as much delighted, I would think."

Javert snorted unhappily as way of answering, and met the other's eyes with steady ones of his own before he said slowly: "I doubt that would be a good idea."

"Why?" Valjean frowned. "She has always been very fond of you."

"And what would I say?" the Inspector growled impatiently. "How would I explain why I left her?"

Valjean swallowed heavily and looked out of the window before saying quietly: "You left both of us."

"You were the one that made me leave," Javert replied just as silently, turning into the other direction.

They both shifted uncomfortably in their seats before Valjean nodded with a sad smile and said: "I suppose I did."

"If you don't want her to know who you truly are, I would advise against making me see her," Javert said, still not meeting the other's eyes.

Valjean contemplated him for a second, licking his lips nervously, and said: "I cannot force you to do anything against your wishes. I didn't have the power when I was still your superior, and I certainly can't do it now." He leaned slightly forward in his seat, silently willing Javert to meet his eyes, and, when he did, Valjean continued: "I don't want you to regret not taking the chance to see her again. If I… When I'm in the galleys, you will be the only father she has. Do not punish her and yourself for my mistakes. You both deserve better."

"You should have thought of that before you corrupted both of us," Javert grunted, glaring at Valjean with burning rage. His dejection had faded, and he felt all the anger at the convict he had been suppressing for the past six years suddenly boil inside him like lava. "You blame me for leaving when I did, I can see it in your eyes," he said, mercilessly continuing when he noticed Valjean was about to interject, "I don't care what you actually say; your mouth spits lies like clouds do rain. You blame me, and you know what? So do I."

He stopped, staring with disgust at the man opposite him and continued less forcefully: "Not for the same reasons, I would think, but I do. It was your fault it ever came to it; had you not deceived me I would never have found myself in a position that required me to abandon a motherless child, but nevertheless, it was I who left, and for that I blame myself."

"You would never have given me a chance had you known my true name," Valjean murmured, but he was looking at his knees rather than Javert.

The Inspector chuckled humorlessly, leaning back in his seat with crossed arms once again and said: "That is true."

"So given the choice, you would rather never have met Cosette at all?" Valjean asked, daring to meet the other's eyes again. "Because that is what this alternative reality you are referring to would have been like. A life without Cosette, never knowing her. Never seeing her laugh at one of your ridiculous jokes about criminals, never taking her for a walk, teaching her about the law. Never telling her bedtime stories about brave princesses who save themselves instead of waiting for their prince in a castle. Never tucking her in at night after she has had a nightmare."

He looked at Javert with a grave expression and said: "I have known you for twenty years, Inspector; I have only seen you happy during two."

Javert squinted at him in reply, burying his chin deeper into his collar and remained silent. Valjean, upon realising he would never get the other man to admit anything of the sort, continued as if he hadn't stopped in his speech: "If you don't care about yourself, fine. You want to be infallible, you want to be the kind of man who would rather turn in his own mother than spend a happy lifetime with a small-time thief, even if she raised you. Very well." He leaned forward, imploring eyes directed at Javert. "What of Cosette, then? Would you punish her too? Because I know she would never want a life without you, given the choice."

Javert was tempted to keep his wall of silence erect, but he found he could not. Valjean had no idea how accurate his description of the other's person had been, and the reality of the Inspector's life, but it had hit a nerve regardless. Raising his chin out of his collar he said with a defiant look at the convict: "Cosette was too young to understand then. She did not know what I knew. You were the one who subjected her to being raised by a criminal in the first place. What do you think what she would choose? How do you presume to know? Do you think she would have agreed to being raised by a dangerous convict?"

Valjean started visibly, instinctively recoiling and stared at Javert with wide eyes. "I have only ever done what's best for her," he said lamely, trembling and pale, and his breathing had sped up. "You saw the people she was living with! I… She… You cannot think she would have been better off with them!"

"No," Javert said calmly, "they were criminals too. She was just unlucky enough to fall from one into the hands of another."

"If you hate me so much," Valjean said quietly and lowered his eyes, "there are kinder ways to say so."

"I never said I did."

Their eyes met in the small confinement of the carriage and neither dared to breathe for the moment they were looking at each other. They were each trying to make sense of the other, trying to hear what they didn't say, as they were attempting to communicate what they didn't dare think. They found themselves in a war without winners, a battle of wills and hurt prides, and neither of them knew how to escape the vortex of despair.

Valjean was the first to break the silence, and when he did, he spoke softly, as if he was afraid of waking a monster raging in the darkness outside: "I meant what I said, before, at the barricades. You made me a better person, and I do not regret what we did."

Javert snorted, regarding him with a raised eyebrow that said "of course."

"I do regret putting you into an impossible position," Valjean said honestly, and, after biting his lips in contemplation, dared grasp the other's hand, "You're right; I knew you would never have agreed to any of what we did had you known who I was. I was selfish. You were the part of me that was missing, and, once I realised this, I felt I had no choice but to complete the puzzle. I don't think I could have lived without you, knowing that my life would be better with you in it."

He smiled sadly and looked at Javert's hand as he reverently traced the rough fingers he was holding on to. "I guess you were always right; I am, at heart, a criminal. I saw something that I wanted and I took it. I knew this would hurt you if you ever found out, and I did it anyway. You are right to hate me; I deserve it. But," and here he looked up and met the other's eyes with an intensity that seemed to burn into Javert like a brand, "don't ever think that my feelings for you were not genuine, and that I ever deceived you in this matter when we were together. I spoke the truth when I said I never lied to you; I omitted details you should have known, had a right to know. For that I am sorry. But I did not pretend when we were together. The man you saw then was who you made me, nothing more, nothing less. Jean Valjean was nothing but a shadow of my past."

"You should have told me," Javert insisted, just as he realised that he never could have. He wasn't certain if he would have had the strength himself; he wasn't certain of anything anymore.

"I didn't want to," Valjean shrugged and intertwined their fingers. "I knew you would leave me, as you did, but apart from that… Even if you hadn't, even if I'd known you wouldn't… I wouldn't have wanted you to know. Being with you was like a fresh start; telling you about Jean Valjean would have meant dragging him back into my new life, always watching, always looming over me. You made me forget who I used to be and made me a better man. Why would I have wanted to be reminded of the old one?"

Javert had no answer to that. He, too, had not wanted Madeleine to know about his past, his childhood, and his origins. He had been as ashamed of who he had been before Montreuil-sur-Mer as Valjean. Knowing this, and realising just how much they had in common, the Inspector found himself quite speechless, and therefore chose to remain silent.

Valjean sighed heavily and said with graspable sadness: "The carriage has stopped. Are you certain you do not wish to see Cosette?"

Javert shook his head, not trusting his voice to carry his thoughts, and watched as Valjean released his hand with notable unwillingness.

"Wait here then," he said and swallowed heavily. "I will make an attempt at freshing up a bit. I think you have endured my current state long enough for one night." He left the carriage and made his way to the house with leaden steps. When he had arrived at the door, he looked back one more time and, sighing heavily, entered the darkness that swallowed him inside.

Javert, meanwhile, had come to a decision and left the carriage, paying all outstanding costs to the driver from his own pocket and walked off in the direction of the Seine. When he had reached the point between the Pont Notre-Dame and the Pont au Change, he stopped and, leaning both elbows on the parapet, reflected.

He was faced with the base reality of having experienced a positive emotion upon realising Valjean had survived the barricades. He was also quite aware of the two roads laid out before him now: he could arrest Valjean and do his duty, as he always had, and with that action doom the man that had spared his life— choosing to be less honourable than a convict!, or he could let the man run free, allowing a criminal to live among others, to threaten the balance Javert had worked his entire life to uphold.

Neither option seemed attractive to him, and the more he considered each, the graver his despair.

He should never have allowed Valjean to spare him. In remaining silent, fleeing when he did, Javert had subjected himself to the kindness of the convict. Valjean had chosen to let him go, aware of the Inspector's mission to put him behind bars once and for all, and yet did not hesitate to free him. Indeed, he had not only let Javert go; he had actively saved his life, for if he hadn't spoken up when he did, claiming the Inspector for himself, one of the other revolutionaries would have doubtlessly killed him.

Thus, Javert owed Jean Valjean his life, and, as matters stood now, Jean Valjean owed his to Javert. By abandoning his post in front of the house, the Inspector had given the other ample opportunity to flee; he might well be gone by now, if he knew what was good for him.

Javert chuckled humorlessly.

No, he would still be there. He would never leave, wouldn't run from the hound that had been following him over the years. Valjean had surrendered, and it was up to Javert now to accept; it was all quite simple.

Why, then, did it appear to be so hard?

Javert felt he had to make an impossible choice; he had been faced with the same dilemma a lifetime ago, when he had warned Valjean about his intentions to arrest him, advising him to leave before he had the chance. Back then it had been hard, but infinitely easier than now; he had been secure in the knowledge that he lacked any substantial proof, that the court had decided another man was Jean Valjean, and that that man had been sentenced to die in the galleys. Javert had had no reason to denounce Madeleine because officially, Jean Valjean had been dead.

Now, Javert knew the truth, saw that he had made a mistake. In allowing the convict to escape, Javert had unwittingly caused the events of this night. He might have laughed at his predicament, but he only had the strength to groan in agony and grab his hair with singular despair.

He had chosen his own sympathies over what was right for society, and this caused Javert to tremble. Knowing this he ought to go back and arrest Valjean, that path was clear, but he could not.

The convict had saved his life, and, upon admitting that, Javert was forced to realise that Valjean had spoken the truth; he had indeed been no other than Madeleine in Montreuil-sur-Mer, had committed acts of kindness for their own sake rather than for trying to mislead Javert, had always been the man the Inspector had looked up to, and that, more than anything, left Javert breathless.

He stared up at the sky and, a moment later, slumped forward, burying his head in his arms on the parapet. What was he to do now? The man was a saint; Javert saw it now. How could he possibly justify arresting him to let him die in the galleys? To himself? To God?

But then, how could he excuse letting a criminal walk free in front of the law? Officially, Jean Valjean was a dangerous man who should not be allowed among society. Javert knew this as well.

What was he to do?

For the first time in his life, Javert had to realise that the law was not infallible; that it was flawed by design, that there were things above and beyond it, that the law of God was, in the end, the more powerful of the two.

He was forced to recognise the existence of kindness. Madeleine had repeatedly been kind to him and others, but only when Jean Valjean traded Javert's life for his own did the Inspector realise the magnitude of this discovery. He himself had been kind also, in letting the convict go, and this caused Javert to tremble.

He had always been respectful toward the church by instinct, but in the end the only superior he recognised was the one assigned to him by the law. Now he was forced to perceive God as the highest of powers and shuddered.

With this revelation, Javert felt the man he used to be disappear; authority died within him and the groundworks of his character were torn down by the kindness of what he now thought must be an angel. Everything he used to believe in, truths and convictions he had built his entire life upon, vanished. He was empty and without direction.

Javert had developed a conscience.

When Jean Valjean looked out of the window — why, he could not have said himself —, Javert was gone. Frowning, the convict made his way downstairs again and leaned out of the door to survey the street.

There was no one there.

The fiacre had gone, as had Javert. Stupefied, Valjean fell back against the doorframe and considered his options. He thought it unlikely that the Inspector would return, and that only left one explanation: Javert had let him go free.

Valjean did not know how to react to this revelation. On the one hand, he was elevated. To remain a free man! To stay by Cosette's side!

But then, what had become of Javert? Why would he let him walk free?

Valjean decided not to question the Inspector's motives. He made his way upstairs again and attempted to rid himself of the sewage covering him from head to toe as best he could. When he was relatively clean and had changed into fresh clothes, he walked up to the window again and frowned at the street.

Javert would never let him go; he had said as much, and Valjean knew it to be true. Why then had the Inspector gone? Was this a test? Was he counting on Valjean to take the opportunity to flee and prove him right in his disdain for the convict?

Valjean glared at the darkness, standing motionlessly at the window for another moment or two, before he abruptly turned around and hurried down the stairs.

If Javert thought he would give up that easily, he was wrong. He really was a changed man, and it was time for the Inspector to realise this. Coming to a decision, he threw open the door and jumped into the night. There was only one place Valjean could imagine Javert would be hiding at, so he hurried into the direction of the nearest police post.

Upon entering, he found himself face to face with a sergeant, and, realising that the man might require an explanation for his presence, he said: "Did a man enter here in the last hour? Very tall, dark coat… His name is Javert."

The sergeant nodded and pointed in the direction of the table a figure was sitting at, hunched over in the candlelight.

"Thank you," Valjean nodded and walked up to Javert, not waiting for the police man at the door to ask further questions. "Inspector."

Javert started, and when he jumped out of his chair it toppled over and fell noisily to the ground; neither of them noticed. Valjean was looking at Javert, and Javert was meeting his discerning eyes with wide ones of his own.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed and took an uncertain step back.

"I thought I might find you here," Valjean shrugged and closed in on Javert, "I was right."

"Are you insane?" the Inspector asked and started when he felt the wall at his back. "If someone saw you…"

"Nobody but you even remembers, let alone recognises me," Valjean said calmly and came close enough for their bodies to be touching should he choose to lean slightly forward. "Why did you leave?"

Javert said nothing, but he swallowed heavily and felt his eyes dart involuntarily towards the note he had been writing. Valjean, noticing the movement, turned around and grasped for the paper, skimming it briefly before a deep frown settled between his eyes and he said lowly: "What is this?"

"An official document you have no right to be touching," Javert said defiantly and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "What are you doing here?"

"Why would you write this?" Valjean said quietly, ignoring the Inspector. "They will dismiss you if your superior reads this."

"That is none of your concern."

Valjean breathed in sharply and met Javert's eyes with urgency.

"What were you intending to do, following the posting of this letter?" he asked, squinting at the other in dawning horror. "This job is your life. Why would you throw it away like that? To what end? To achieve more humane treatment of prisoners? Javert," he said urgently, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat and grasped the Inspector by his shoulders, "what were you going to do?"

"I told you it is none of your concern," Javert said, angrily shrugging the other's hands off, "why are you here? Did you come to mock me for not having the strength to arrest you? I cannot say it wouldn't be your right, but I would not have taken you for a man who would rejoice in the pain of others."

Valjean started, and, blinking stupidly at Javert, said: "I have no idea what you're talking about. I came because I thought you expected me to disappear."

"And your natural reaction to this was to come and give yourself up anyway?" Javert frowned and considered the other as if he was dealing with a madman. "You just have to defy me, no matter what I do, don't you? I try to arrest you, I am evil. I let you go, you distrust me."

"Javert," Valjean said quietly, looking imploringly into the other's eyes, "what were you intending to do once you left this station?"

The Inspector sighed heavily, the burden of the past hour still resting on his shoulders, and, walking past Valjean towards the exit, said: "It matters little. Our lives have been separated years ago; let's not try to force them together now." He left the station without looking back, and Valjean, after one last glance at the piece of paper in his hands, put it into his pocket and followed the other into the darkness.

"Javert, wait," Valjean said and, upon catching up with him, seized him by his arm and dragged him to the side. "Where are you going?"

"That is none of your concern," Javert insisted and tried to pry the other's hand off, but Valjean would not be moved.

With a stern look at the Inspector he said: "It is— because I make it so. Either you tell me where you're going and what you will be doing, or I will take you home with me, whether you come willingly or not."

"You have no right," Javert growled and finally managed to shake off the other's hand, stomping off into a random direction once again.

The truth was that Javert had no idea where he was going. Now that Valjean had found him, he was once again without direction. He could hardly jump off the bridge with the other by his side; that blasted man would surely be idiotic enough to try and save him. So what else was there to do? Javert felt that living was impossible; he could bear it no longer. Dying, however, was also not an option.

Once again Javert despaired, and once again it was Jean Valjean's fault. The man might no longer be a criminal, but he sure was still a devil.

"Just tell me where you're going," Valjean pressed, keeping up with the other easily, "and I will let you be."

"What business is it of yours?" Javert frowned and briefly looked up to meet the other's eyes. "Have you nothing better to do with your time than harass me?"

"Apparently not." Valjean shrugged and subtly moved into the direction of his house. Javert, unaware of the manoeuvre, followed automatically, as if per instinct.

When they had brought the police station behind them, Valjean looked briefly at Javert and said as casually as he could manage: "I was surprised to find you gone. I would have thought you to be very eager to arrest me."

"Perhaps I should have," Javert said with some annoyance and walked with more force than was strictly necessary. "Had I known you would show up AGAIN, God knows I would have."

Valjean smiled quietly to himself and dared to chance a glance at the sullen Inspector.

"I have always known there was kindness in you, Javert," he mused. "I'm glad you finally realised it too."

"Hmph," Javert grunted and glared at the other. "You have always taken great pleasure in insulting me; I forgot."

"I did no such thing," Valjean frowned. "It is hardly my fault you consider human behaviouristics to be something appalling, something to be ashamed of."

Javert sighed and, after exchanging an exhausted glance with the other, said: "Has it really been six years? Because I could have sworn I heard this speech only yesterday."

"You will hear it many times more," Valjean laughed and carefully grasped for the other's hand. Javert started, but did not recoil, and his former prisoner smiled gently when he realised it, strengthening his grip.

"You should have let me die then," Javert said, but it lacked any real bite. He found it hard to be mad when the other man was in such close proximity to him. Swallowing heavily, the Inspector slightly squeezed the hand holding his and refused to blush when he spotted the other smile at the gesture.

"I never could," Valjean said simply, and that was that. They walked back to the house in silence, and only when they were right in front of it did Javert anxiously retract his hand.

Nervously licking his lips, he said: "Will she even remember me? She must surely hate me if she does."

"You worry too much," Valjean said with a shake of his head and reassuringly squeezed the other's shoulder. "She doesn't have it in herself to hate anyone, least of all you. She will be thrilled to see you, nothing more."

Javert regarded him with a look that clearly spelt doubt, but said nothing. With unsteady feet he ascended the stairs and only looked back once he had reached the top.

"I would hate to wake her," he said honestly and fidgeted uncomfortably at the spot when he continued, "it is probably better to wait until morning. She might not hate me now, but she will if I wake her from her slumber. If you'll have me…"

Valjean smiled slightly at the anxious man in front of him, and, lightly squeezing his shoulder in passing, led him to the bedroom. Once inside, he carefully closed the door behind them and regarded Javert with a curious expression.

"I seem to recall a fantastic story starting like this," Javert mused quietly and moved towards the bed, reverently tracing the frame with his fingers. "Something about two men becoming unlikely friends in their quest to save a little girl."

"I heard it is a great one," Valjean said and carefully approached the Inspector with light steps, "I haven't finished with it yet. Is the ending satisfactory?"

Javert groaned as the other embraced him from behind and pressed small kisses along his neck, barely managing to breathe out: "I don't know. I was always afraid of getting to that part."

Valjean chuckled lightly and, licking a small trail towards the other's ear, murmured roughly: "You and me both."

Javert turned around as quick as lightning and, brining up a hand to grasp the other's hair, pressed their lips together with desperate urgency. Valjean groaned into the kiss, clinging to the Inspector as if he would disappear again as soon as he let go, and manoeuvred them towards the bed. Upon dropping carelessly on it, Javert turned them around with his usual swiftness and, breathing heavily, looked at the man beneath him. He chuckled and leaned forward, resting his head against Valjean's, and once he had regained his composure, he said: "Well. Some things apparently never change."

"I would hope not," Valjean smiled and tenderly grasped the other's cheek, leaning upward to press a gentle kiss against his temple. "Don't ever do that again."

Javert frowned and leaned back, just far enough to consider the other with an uncomprehending look. "What do you mean?"

"I know what you meant to do after the station," Valjean said and recovered the note from his pocket. "This wasn't a recommendation for improvement; it was a resignation."

"So?" Javert said, dismissively taking the note and throwing it behind him. "Am I not allowed to resign from my post?"

Valjean considered him intently, all humour gone from his face, and said in a rough voice: "You are; I forbid you, however, to resign from your life."

Javert started, and when he met the other's eyes, he could read in them that he knew everything; he had seen through the Inspector with practised ease. Javert felt he should be surprised at that, but had to admit with some resignation that he was not. It had always been far too easy for Valjean to see through him; why should this time be any different?

"You think you have that kind of power over me?" Javert asked calmly, tracing the muscles beneath the other's shirt without being aware of it.

The man beneath him simply smiled humorlessly and said: "I apparently have the power to take your life; why should I not also be able to protect it?"

"You are in possession of a singular arrogance," Javert said and rolled off the other to lie beside him, staring at the ceiling, "what makes you think you had anything to do with my decision?"

Valjean laughed openly at that, regarding the man beside him with raised eyebrows as he said: "Oh? So you decided to take your life just minutes after leaving me here with absolutely no connection to my person? I had nothing to do with it? At all? It is all just a big coincidence?"

Javert remained silent, but he looked as if he might be in danger of sulking. Valjean perceived this and continued soberly: "I'm glad." He turned towards the ceiling again and breathed in heavily. "I don't think I could live with myself were I the reason for your demise."

"The world doesn't start and end with you," Javert said quietly, still not looking at the other, but he tenderly took his hand and traced the lines upon it. "You are not responsible for everything."

"Sometimes it feels like I am," Valjean admitted, smiling gently at the gesture, and brought up their intertwined hands to reverently kiss Javert's fingers.

"You are incorrigible," the Inspector sighed and allowed his head to rest against Valjean's shoulder, "but you are not God. There are many things beyond your control, and trying to bend them to your will won't do anything but make you miserable."

"You are a wise man, Javert," Valjean smiled and put his arm around the other's shoulders, "I wish you had been here forty years ago, before all this happened. Can you imagine? What do you think our lives would have been like if we'd met before Toulon?"

"No different from now, I would think," Javert shrugged and allowed himself to close his eyes. "After all, you are, as you said, a criminal at heart. You would have done something to end up in the galleys one way or another, and I would have been there to chase you for the rest of my life and arrest you."

Valjean smiled gently at the picture this brought to his mind and said: "One would hope so. What would I be without you? No, you are quite right. I must always be a criminal, and you must always be my guard. I would not want it any other way."

"That is fortunate," Javert yawned and snuggled deeper into the shoulder his head was resting on, "for this is the life we are stuck with, whether we like it or not, so we might as well be pleased with it."

Valjean nodded quietly, careful not to make any movement, and remained silent to allow the Inspector to fall asleep. Once he had felt his breathing even out, he allowed himself to relax, for the first time since they had arrived secure in the knowledge that Javert won't try to leave and finish what he'd started.

He had been appalled when he realised what the Inspector had in mind for his future, and he was relieved beyond measure at having him here with him, resting peacefully by his side. He did not know what he would have done had Javert disappeared from his life forever; it was unthinkable. To live without Javert was one thing; to exist in a world without him quite another.

Valjean had wanted to disagree with the Inspector when he had said he would always have been a criminal; he was certain he would never have resorted to such drastic measures if Javert had been with him; but he hadn't said so because the thought of having the other by his side, regardless of his actions, regardless of how their lives played out, was comforting.

No matter any alternative realities, however, this was the one he wanted to be in. Lying here, with Javert by his side, Cosette only a room away, was exactly the life he had always wanted. His heart had been yearning for it ever since he could remember, but he had only realised it eight years ago when the Inspector opened up and allowed him to see the man behind the uniform.

It came forty years too late; Jean Valjean would not change a second of his past knowing he would — ultimately— end up here.


	9. Epilogue - Family Matters

This is it. This is the end. It is rather short because it is more of an epilogue than anything, BUT it is not over yet. Meet me at the end notes once you're done reading.

* * *

When morning came, Valjean opened his eyes to find Javert anxiously pacing in front of the door. The Inspector was mumbling to himself, and he had not noticed the other awaken, so Valjean managed to sneak up on him without difficulty.

Putting his arms around his waist, he said: "Good morning, Javert. You look nervous."

The man started and turned half around, glaring at the other unhappily.

"Perhaps I am," he said and wriggled out of the embrace to fully face Valjean, "would you not be, were you in my place?"

"You have nothing to be worried about," Valjean reassured him, quietly smiling to himself at the picture Javert made. He had rarely had opportunity to see the Inspector at anything less than his very best, and witnessing him display the human characteristic of anxiety was comforting. It was the last prove Valjean needed to know that Javert fully trusted him; he would never allow himself to let his feelings show openly otherwise.

"Cosette will be nothing but thrilled," he continued, gently taking the other's hand in his. "Please. Do not worry yourself so."

"Easy for you to say," Javert sighed but didn't jerk away. "You are not the one who left her."

"I told you: there is no place for resentment in her heart," Valjean insisted, gently dragging Javert out the door by his hand. The Inspector made an attempt at resisting, but the other was more determined than him; they were soon standing in the kitchen. Valjean, thinking the reunion would be aided by the presence of breakfast, moved to grab bread. Javert distracted himself by presuming his frantic pacing once again.

"She must certainly hate me," he mumbled to himself, unaware of his surroundings. "She will surely throw me out."

"Who will?" a sleepy voice behind him asked, and Javert started so violently, Valjean thought he must surely drop dead the next moment. The Inspector swirled around with wide eyes, taking in the girl in front of him who was tiredly rubbing her eyes, seemingly unbothered by the intruder in her kitchen. "Papa and I would never be so rude as to force a visitor to leave. If you're talking about Toussaint, she knows we would be very cross with her if she did."

"Cosette," Javert said blankly. He had heard not a word of what she had said; it was all the same to him. She was standing not ten feet away, and that was all that mattered. He had dreamed of this moment for the past six years; it had never occurred to him that Cosette might have grown during that time. Until only a second ago he would never have thought of her as anything other than the frightened little girl they had taken in in a past life.

He saw now that that had been a mistake.

Cosette had grown into a beautiful young woman during the time he had been away. She was glowing, it seemed, and Javert knew at once that she was all right; his absence had not damaged her. His knees gave in underneath him, and he instinctively grasped for a chair to keep himself upright.

It was too much. He had not been prepared for this; a bitter, resentful child, yes, but not this. He could have wept with joy, for it was only now that he believed Valjean's reassurances; this was not the face of a girl who would despise him.

"You didn't tell me we were expecting a visitor," Cosette turned towards her father with an accusing look on her face, "I would have gotten up sooner had I known."

"Cosette," Javert croaked and took an uncertain step in her direction. She met his eyes politely— and started.

"Mon dieu," she breathed and looked between the stranger and her father in quick succession, eyes wide. "Can it be…?"

Javert managed to close the distance between them before he fell on his knees and took the girl's hands in his, grasping them tightly and putting kisses all over them.

"I'm so sorry," he muttered, voice unsteady, "I am so unbelievably sorry."

Cosette said nothing; she was still in shock. Looking down to see the man trembling at her feet, she was overcome with joy.

"Father!" she cried and dropped to the ground herself, freeing her hands from the other's grip to put her arms around him and bury her face in his neck. "You're here! You returned! I don't believe it!"

Javert was dumbstruck; he stared at the light hair covering nearly all of his sight in speechless amazement and wondered what to do next.

"I did," he said eventually, careful not to spook the girl in his arms.

"But where have you been all these years?" Cosette asked, leaning back just far enough to look imploringly at the Inspector. "Have you forgotten all about us when you were hunting that criminal?"

Javert frowned, looking with some confusion at the girl and asked: "What criminal?"

"The one you were chasing, silly," Cosette laughed and shook her head. "Have you caught him then?"

When the Inspector continued to look blankly between her and Valjean, she said with a long-suffering sigh: "Papa told me all about your quest to catch that dangerous criminal that had gotten loose. I was still surprised it took you that long to find him. Was he that good, father?"

"I suppose he was," Javert said quietly, meeting Valjean's gaze with piercing eyes. Feeling that he could escape the truth no longer, the former convict sighed and took a step towards the others on the floor.

"I told her that you needed to find the man," he explained, carefully weighing his words, "because he was dangerous and no other could do it. She had to know why we were leaving. Without you."

Javert looked silently between the two, but Cosette said with a vigorous nod: "Yes, it's true, he told me. I know you wouldn't have wanted me to know, father, but it was only right I should be informed. I might have been a child, but you can't possibly have expected me to never find out."

"And just how much did your papa tell you, Cosette?" Javert asked carefully, squinting at the other man with some suspicion.

"Not much," the girl shrugged. "That we needed to leave immediately because a criminal had fled from the galleys, and that he knew you. Papa told me you thought he might come after us and try to harm us, so you told him we should leave and you would take care of it."

"That sounds like something I would do," Javert said vaguely, glaring at Valjean. He had wondered just how the other had convinced Cosette to give up her old life and start a new one, and he knew he shouldn't be as surprised as he was to learn the truth.

"But you are here now, so you have caught him, yes?" the girl asked with bright eyes, smiling happily at the Inspector. "You will stay with us now?"

"I seem to recall a scene just like this one," Javert said with a lump in his throat. "I remember you asking me to stay as if it had been yesterday. What did I say then?"

Cosette frowned, etching away and said gloomily: "That it was complicated and that you needed to speak to papa."

Javert laughed and, nodding guiltily, said: "Yes, I did. You have an excellent memory, girl. I expected you would not forget this. And what did I do after that?"

"Well, you talked to papa and…" she stopped, eyes widening, and a smile spread on her lips when she continued, "you stayed."

"How could I not?" Javert sighed and stood, affectionately ruffling her hair as he did. "But there are still many things that need to be discussed."

"I suppose I could go to my room…" Cosette said slowly, unhappily straightening and turning slightly towards the direction she had come from.

Javert shook his head and, exchanging a meaningful glance with Valjean, gently grasped her shoulder and guided her in the direction of a chair.

"You really should stay, seeing as this concerns you more than anyone."

Valjean too sat down, as did the Inspector, and they began telling Cosette about the barricades. They omitted some details; there was no reason she should hear about Javert as a prisoner on the brink of death, or either of them being there in the first place. Valjean, not wanting her to know about his rescue of the boy, told her he had seen him being carried away by none other than Javert on his morning walk, and that the boy had mumbled Cosette's name. Valjean, recognising him as the young man they had frequently encountered on their walks, had asked for his address and was planning to visit him this afternoon.

Cosette, shocked into silence at the tale, jumped out of her chair when it was over and declared: "Let us go at once, then."

Incapable of denying her anything — Javert because he was still stricken by the realisation that she had accepted him back in her life as if he had never gone, and Valjean because he had never been able to say no to her before — they decided to visit Marius immediately.

Monsieur Gillenormand, upon realising the girl on his doorstep was the one his grandson had been speaking about before he had been grievously wounded, and the only thing ever since, welcomed them with a smile brighter than the sun and ushered them all into his living room before they had even finished introducing themselves.

Javert was recognised as the police man who had delivered the boy home, and was showered with endless gratitude and offerings of riches beyond imagination. The Inspector uncomfortably shrugged off any praises and rewards, every now and then allowing himself to glare at Valjean who was still refusing to take any credit for the rescue.

Cosette, being told by the doctor that Marius was far too weak to be excited at the moment, was not allowed to meet him, but that did not deter her in any way; realising that she could not be with Marius for the moment, she decided that she might as well help him as best as she could while they were apart and set out to make as many bandages as she was capable of, day and night, until she was too exhausted to continue and fell into a happy slumber.

Marius recovered slowly, but when he did, his first words to his grandfather were "If you don't let me see Cosette, I swear I will walk out of here right now and never return."

Monsieur Gillenormand, himself smitten with the girl, laughed and told him everything; her father, who dropped by to deliver the bandages the girl had made every day; the police man who had brought Marius home and who appeared to be a close family friend; the impending wedding Monsieur Gillenormand himself had decided on, whether Marius liked it or not…

Marius, too shocked to speak, only recovered when Cosette was finally allowed in and told him everything herself. He had been convinced of having seen both Monsieur Fauchelevent and Javert at the barricades, but neither of them mentioned any such occurrence, and Marius shrugged it off as something his feverish brain had fabricated; he had doubtlessly noticed Javert carrying him home — and perhaps heard the voice of Cosette's father when he encountered the police man — and created an illusion in his mind.

It mattered not.

Cosette was with him, and he was happy. She visited every day, and when Marius had finally recovered enough for the wedding, he realised the past was of no importance. He still thanked Javert for the rescue profusely whenever the police man wasn't quick enough to avoid him, and Fauchelevent for allowing him to take his daughter's hand in marriage, and that was all the connection that remained of his life before Cosette.

The newlywed couple moved in with Marius' grandfather, who was at least as much in love with Cosette as his grandson, and offered Monsieur Fauchelevent a room with them, but he respectfully declined. Cosette alone knew the reason, but she remained silent; she had learnt a long time ago that not everything was meant to be shared with the world.

She was perfectly happy with seeing her parents at least once a week; Valjean, who took his usual walks in the direction of their house, daily, and Javert on the weekends, although Cosette did often happen to be in the neighbourhood when the Inspector was on one of his rounds, and, already being there, she joined him. Javert did not object; he resigned himself to squinting suspiciously at the girl whenever she appeared and smiling quietly to himself if she was not looking.

It was a good life.

Javert had decided to continue doing his duty; he could not imagine a life outside the police, hard as he tried, and even though he no longer agreed with the system as he used to, he was still at heart a police man. If he was a bit more kind towards beggars and prostitutes, and perhaps a bit harsher towards the rich and powerful… well, who was brave enough to tell him he was wrong?

Valjean had changed little about his habits; he still went on his usual walks, and if he accidentally ran into Javert and perhaps Cosette when he did… such was life. Coincidences happened all the time. What use was there to fight them?

Javert had officially moved into Cosette's old room, but anyone who might have happened by would have noticed that nothing about it had changed; it was still the domain of an adolescent girl, but who was there to be suspicious? Toussaint had moved out to work for Cosette, leaving Valjean and Javert alone in the rooms in the Rue de l'Homme-Armé.

Marius had found it odd at first that the Inspector was living with Monsieur Fauchelevent, but his wife assured him that they had been lifelong friends, and that Javert struggled with paying for his rent. Marius, knowing about both Fauchelevent's kind heart and the notoriously bad payment of police officers, was content with that explanation and asked no further questions. When Cosette told him Javert had often entertained her in her youth, he also shrugged off his wife's strong attachment to the police man and her insistence on inviting him whenever possible.

"Besides," she always said, "you know how uncomfortable papa is on his own. It will be much more pleasant for him if Javert is there to keep him company."

Thus were their lives. Summers came and went, and it was only when they were holding their second grandchild in their hands that Valjean finally broke down in tears and croaked: "You did this. Without you, I would be dead."

Javert, caught by surprise, took the sleeping baby out of his partner's arms and laid it down gently in the crib before he carefully approached Valjean and embraced him gently from behind, murmuring: "I did nothing; it was all you."

"No," he vehemently shook his head and turned to face Javert, "no, it was you. I could never have continued without you— I would never have gotten so far! I would not have raised Cosette, I would not have known how to love, and I would never have been here to see her children grow!"

"You are being dramatic," Javert said gently and pulled the other's head down to rest on his shoulder. "You would be fine without me. And you would never have not raised Cosette; don't be ridiculous."

"If you hadn't helped me get her…" Valjean said, his shaking voice muffled by his position.

"You would have found a way," Javert assured him and carefully stroked the other's hair. "Besides, haven't I told you not to worry about what might have been? No good can come of it. We cannot change who we are, and we are stuck with the lives we have now. Why must you always ponder on what-ifs? It is exasperating."

Valjean chuckled through his sobs and, raising his head to wipe his cheeks, said: "Oh, if you weren't here to lecture me… I wonder what my life would be without you."

"Tragic," Javert snorted, grimacing at the sound of the crying baby that had awoken behind him, "just tragic. But infinitely quieter."

He hurried towards the wailing sounds and desperately tried to calm the child. Valjean looked after him, a contemplative look on his face, and stood motionless for a long moment. Eventually, he nodded slowly and said: "Yes, I would expect so; I doubt I would prefer it."

* * *

So this is it. Roughly 3 months later, and here we are. It has been a fun ride, I can say that much. All my love and thanks to my readers; you are my crew and my motivation. Well /  
I am terrible at goodbyes, which would explain the crappy ending, so this isn't goodbye; it's simply the next step in the story.

As a sort of "thank you" to my readers, I have decided to do this:br /  
Everyone who has ever commented on this fic (including this chapter) can drop me a prompt. The only requirement is that it fits into the story. Consider it /  
So what does that mean? Well, if there is anything you want to see done, like pre-Toulon, Toulon, M-sur-M, raising Cosette, Paris, after the end… any point before, during or after the story, tell me. It needs to make sense for this story (so no supernatural stuff, Modern AUs…) and integrate into it. Other than that, everything's fair game (I will try my best, no matter what it is, but I don't make any promises on quality *chrm* porn *chrm*).br /  
As a bonus-bonus, everyone who has commented on every single chapter (or at least most of them) gets to request 2-3 prompts. Just order them according to preference so I know which one to tackle /  
Prompts will be filled on a first come, first serve basis and/or how and when the motivation strikes /  
To request something, put it in a comment below or message me on tumblr (same name as here), but tell me what your name on here is because I won't be answering prompts for people who didn't comment. I will check. I am determined to reward my crew, not distribute free candy.

Anything else? Idk. If anything's unclear, just ask, I will answer any and all questions. I will be posting the filled prompts as a separate story in the A World of Kindness-Series on Ao3, so watch that /  
So, to close: thank you. If every writer gets the readers they deserve, I should actually be in for a Pulitzer because you guys are amazing and I have never met fans I liked better than you.


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